"Go slow," muttered Burgh, lying on his back in the mud. "I give in, Ainsleigh. You've won."
"I've got the papers, if that's what you mean. They shall be given to Lo-Keong."
"And you'll get the five thousand."
"I'll get one hundred thousand," said Rupert, keeping a watchful eye on his late opponent.
"Huh," said Burgh with a groan, "what luck. And all I have got, is a ducking. Let me up and give me some more brandy. Remember, I saved your life from Forge, Ainsleigh."
"Quite so, and you tried to kill me just now," said Rupert dryly. "I think we are quits. However, here's the brandy, and you can sit up. No treachery mind, or I'll shoot you," and Rupert pulled out his Derringer.
The buccaneer gave a grunt and sat up with an effort. "I'm not up to a row," he gasped. "There's no fight left in me. Great Scott, to think I was so near success. I'll be poor for the rest of my life, I guess."
"You'll be hanged for the murder of Miss Wharf, you mean."
Burgh took a deep draught of the brandy, which put new life into his veins. He actually grinned when he took the flask from his lips. "I reckon that's not my end," said he. "I never killed the old girl. No sir--not such a flat."
"Then who did kill her?"