“Listen,” he said, his voice shaking hysterically, “I must get rid of it or go mad. For two hours I have been driving about in a motor car with—it for a passenger. I drove to a quiet spot and I tried to lift it out—a policeman rode up! I tried again, a man rushed by on a motor cycle, and turned to look at me! I tried a few minutes later—the policeman came back! It was always the same. The night seemed to have eyes. I was watched everywhere. The—the face began to mock me. I’ll swear that I heard it chuckle once!”
Peter Ruff moved a little further away.
“I don’t think I’ll have anything to do with it,” he declared. “I don’t like your description at all.”
“It’ll be all right with you,” Merries declared eagerly. “It’s my nerves, that’s all. You see, I was there—when the accident happened. See here,” he added, tearing a pocketbook from his coat, “I have three hundred and seventy pounds saved up in case I had to bolt. I’ll keep seventy—three hundred for you—to dispose of it!”
Ruff leaned over the motionless body, looked into its face, and nodded.
“Masters, the bookmaker,” he remarked. “H’m! I did hear that he had a lot of money coming to him over the Cambridgeshire.”
Merries shuddered.
“May I go?” he pleaded. “There’s the three hundred on the table. For God’s sake, let me go!”
Peter Ruff nodded.
“I wish you’d saved a little more,” he said. “However—”