That was the condition of affairs when he left England; but now a change had come. He had confessed to the murder of his cousin, and, as he had been picked up, so the clergyman who had received his confession might have been picked up. Hurrying to England there might be a ship with the clergyman on board. It might, for all he knew, be an ocean race between accuser and accused. Had he not firmly believed that his fate was certain, he would have kept his secret. He had regretted his rashness five minutes afterwards, but it was too late.
Then came the wreck, and he knew no more till he opened his eyes on board the Diana.
His presence of mind, which had deserted him in the hour of danger, had returned in the hour of safety.
He had given his name as George Englehardt when asked by the ship authorities. At any rate, it should be imagined that Gurth Egerton had perished until it was certain that his fellow-passenger, the clergyman, was lost.
He took the first ship from Baltimore, and as he neared England his plans were complete. He would let it be believed he was drowned until all chance of his accuser turning up had vanished.
So he came to London, and steadily avoided for a time all places where he was likely to be recognized.
But one night, impelled by curiosity to see his house, he crept past it in the dark.
Standing in the shadow of the opposite side, he saw Jabez Duck come out. What was Grigg and Limpet’s clerk doing there at that time of night?
Shortly afterwards he saw what he supposed to be a lady bring home a little girl he had never seen before. A strange fear took possession of him. Knowing what he knew, he jumped to the conclusion that the certificate had been found during his absence, that Heckett had been communicated with, and that the child was the child of Ralph’s dead wife.
That Grigg and Limpet’s solicitor and this little girl should be at the house alarmed him. As ‘the wicked flee when none pursueth,’ so do the guilty always connect the most trifling circumstances with the discovery they most dread.