“It is Captain and Mrs. Pendelton,” he said, simply. “He looks as he looked the day before his death.” A silence fell upon the room, as he snapped the locket and, bowing profoundly, passed it back to Peters. He then continued:
“My mission here has certainly had a curious termination. I will remain until the court matters against you are all disposed of. I would suggest then that you return with me to London, so that you can be on the ground in the arrangements for transferring the estate to you.”
“There will be no arrangements,” said Peters. “I don’t want the money.”
The Englishman stared incredulously.
“Don’t want it! Don’t want one hundred and fifty thousand pounds, three quarters of a million dollars? It will escheat to the Crown if you refuse it.”
“Let it then,” said Peters, stubbornly. “I don’t want it. Why should I take something my wife didn’t want? There must be something wrong about it somewhere. Why should I make money by the death of my wife and child? If she were here to share it—if only my boy were here—”
He broke down for the first time since his arrest, and sobbed, throwing his arms over his head in a wild burst of grief. Finally he composed himself.
“I’ll go back to my trade,” he said, simply. “Hard work is the best thing for me now.”
He turned to Lanagan and their hands met in a long, hard clasp.
“If it can be done, I’ll turn the money over to you, Mr. Lanagan.”