"That reward I have not received, because the payments which Sir Henry had to make to you, and other claims upon him, had caused him to overdraw his bankers. But yesterday morning he paid in eight thousand pounds; and he intimated to one of the partners that he should give me a cheque for two thousand in the course of the afternoon. The fact is," continued Mrs. Slingsby, "those bankers believe that I have property in India, which Sir Henry Courtenay's agent there manages for me, and that the proceeds therefore pass through Sir Henry's hands. This tale was invented to account for the numerous and large cheques which I have received from the baronet on that bank:—it was the saving clause for my reputation. Now, those two thousand pounds which were promised me I can have for little trouble and a small risk."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Torrens, becoming more and more interested in this explanation.
"Yes," continued Mrs. Slingsby, "and I will tell you how almost immediately. But I must first observe that I should have received the cheque last evening had not the sudden flight of Rosamond interrupted the discourse which I was having with the baronet, and thrown us into confusion. But,"—and again she lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper—"I can imitate the handwriting of Sir Henry Courtenay to such a nicety that it would defy detection. Now, do you understand me?"
"I do—I do," answered Mr. Torrens.
"And you perceive that I have full confidence in you," added the widow.
Mr. Torrens rose and paced the room for a few minutes. He was deliberating within himself whether he should repose an equal trust in Mrs. Slingsby; and he decided upon doing so. She saw what was passing in his mind, and remained silent, confident as to the result.
"My dear madam," he said, resuming his seat, "I will at once admit to you that Sir Henry Courtenay is indeed no more."
The lady heard him with breathless attention; for though she was fully prepared for the avowal, yet when it came it sounded so awfully—so ominously, that she received it with emotions of terror and dismay.
"It is indeed too true," continued Torrens: "but think not for a moment that I am a murderer! No—no; bad as I may be—as I know myself to be, in fine—I could not perpetrate such a deed as that. A strange and wonderful combination of circumstances led to the shocking catastrophe. Listen—and I will tell you all."
Mr. Torrens then related every incident of the preceding evening, suppressing only that portion of the tale which involved the fact of his servant John Jeffreys being acquainted with the occurrence, and having lent his aid in disposing of the body. This circumstance he concealed through that inherent aversion which man ever has to confess that he is in the power of any one; and he made it appear, by his own story, that, unassisted, he had buried the corpse.