‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I followed him from Heckett’s only yesterday. I wondered what he was doing there.’
‘At Heckett’s!’ gasped the squire. ‘Is Heckett still—still—alive?’
‘Yes,’ answered Preene, looking steadily at his companion; but he won’t do much more mischief. He’s in a galloping consumption.’
The squire heaved a deep sigh. At least he was free from the brand of Cain.
‘I’ve been going to write to you once or twice about the goings-on there,’ said Preene; ‘only you agreed to see Heckett, last time you were here, and square him, and as I never heard any more from you, I concluded you had. There’s some people staying in his house, and I can’t make out who they are.’
The squire scarcely heard what Preene said. He was turning over a desperate scheme in his mind. If he could secure Gurth, he could secure Heckett too. He would brave the worst and see Egerton at once.
‘By Heaven!’ he muttered to himself, ‘I’ll play my last card, ‘and hazard all upon it. Let Garth Egerton look to himself, for now it is a struggle to the death. I will not fall alone.’
CHAPTER LXI.
A LATE VISITOR FOR MR. EGERTON.
Squire Heritage, or Edward Marston, as we may now again call him, leapt into a cab when he left Preene, and bade the man drive to Birnie’s address.