He was weaker now, however, and again Fitzroy held a little more brandy to his lips.
“In my pocket—feel,” he said, slowly, “a key.” The left jacket pocket. Yes, that is it. When you go on board, open my private drawer, and you will find letters to testify to the truth of all I tell you. Peggy McQueen is a stolen child—stolen that she might not reap the benefits of an uncle’s will. This uncle was an old bachelor and lived with his sister-in-law—yes, the address is in my drawer—the estate, it is a fine one, would be his only brother’s had he died without a will. His only brother was his greatest enemy. He loved the child, and left her all his fortune. But the very night on which he died this evil brother came to me. I was poor, and fell an easy prey to bribery.
“Oh, horrible!” continued the dying man. “I was told off to steal Peggy and throw her down a disused well.”
A light began to dawn on Fitzroy’s mind now, for he remembered the story poor Peggy had told him about her meeting with the beautiful, white-haired lady in her own park, and about everything that happened.
He grasped Allison by the cold hand.
“And you—you murdered another child and threw her into the well—you stole Peggy and—sold her to me!”
“No—no—there was no murder. I could not do that, but—God forgive me, I robbed a grave of its little girl inmate. It was a ghoulish thing to do. It was her corpse in Peggy’s clothes that was found down the well.”
“Yes, but——”
“Listen, for I feel I am going fast. When the money I received for the—the deed—was squandered—I blackmailed the evil brother! He laughed at me first, but when I told him that Peggy was still alive, and threatened to bring her up, he trembled like the coward he was, but promised that if I brought the child to him—but I would not—I was bribed again—but my men failed to kidnap her. Then came the plot to get you and her out of the country to a place where she would never likely be heard of again.”