“It is likely,” said Timothy.
The girl rose and went forward along the deck to get a view of a passing destroyer. Timothy took a letter from his pocket and read it for about the twentieth time. It was undated and began:
“My Dear Anderson,—I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for your kindness and for the big, generous sympathy you have shown me. Especially am I glad that you brought Mary so that I could see her again, for I just hungered for a sight of the child. Won’t you please forgive Sadie? She acted without my knowledge but in my interests, as she thought, in trying to keep you away from Monte Carlo after she had planned to bring the girl so that I could see her.
“Yes, I killed Cartwright, but I shot him in self-defence. His body lies at the bottom of a disused well in the garden of my house. It is perfectly true that I had been associated in business with him and that I was in his Moorish syndicate and heavily involved. I was so very deeply involved at one time, and so near to ruin that, deceived by some statement which had been made to Sadie’s fortune, I made her acquaintance and married her. During the past year I have never ceased to thank God that I did so, for she had been the most loyal companion and friend that a man could desire.
“It was I who fired the shot through my own window. I contemplated flight from Cartwright, and was manufacturing evidence against him in advance—God forgive me. Sadie guessed, and when she watched me drawing from the well the bag containing proof that Cartwright’s charge was not wholly false, she knew the end was near.
“I am perfectly happy, and spend most of my time developing my property in Morocco, under the protection of El Mograb, an old Moorish friend of mine, and the supreme protection of the Sultan, who, as the Pretender, received considerable help from me. I am six months of the year with Sadie, for Sadie either lives on the Riviera or at Cadiz and is easily reachable in my hired yacht.
“I think it best for all concerned, and especially for our dear Mary, that I remain as dead. Some day the whole story may be told, but no useful purpose would be served by publishing it to-day. The card with the message was intended for her, but I am glad that it fell into your hands. As you guessed, it was I who flung Mary’s money into your room—I dared not post it to her for fear I was betrayed by my writing, and I knew that you were safe. God bless you both and bring you happiness and prosperity, to which I hope this property of mine will one day contribute.”
Timothy folded the letter and was putting it in his pocket, then changed his mind and took it out. He read it again, then tore it into pieces and flung it over the side of the ship.
Then he too went forward to the wife he had married in Paris—much against the wishes of a scandalised Mrs. Renfrew—who nevertheless termed it “a pretty romance” in the article she wrote for the Bath County Herald.
THE END