Peter Ruff assented.
“To save scandal,” he said, “yes!”
Three flights of stairs they climbed. When at last they reached the door, the trembling man made one last appeal.
“Mr. Ruff,” he said, “have a little mercy. Give me an hour’s start—just a chance for my life!”
Peter Ruff pushed him in the door.
“I am not a hard man,” he said, “but I keep my mercy for men!”
He took the key from the inside of the door, locked it, and with the key in his pocket descended to the drawing-room. The young lady who had sat on Major Jones’s right was singing a ballad. Suddenly she paused in the middle of her song. The four people who were playing bridge looked up. Mrs. Bognor screamed.
“What was that?” she asked quickly.
“It sounded,” Peter Ruff said, “very much like revolver shot.”
“I see,” Sir Richard remarked, with a queer look in his eyes, as he handed over a roll of notes to Peter Ruff, “the jury brought it in ‘Suicide’! What I can’t understand is—”