"In an hour, yes," Trascott assented. "But do you believe in retribution? That message came from Rossland House. The carriage which James was driving to the town was struck by lightning. He was only stunned, but the Mahatma woman was killed. Do you believe in retribution?" Trascott vanished through the doorway, leaving the question with them.
"The circle is completed," Mercia whispered.
"Yes," said Britton, extending his arms, "and we belong to each other!"
An hour later, Ainsworth and the curate entered the gun-room. It presented a singularly deserted appearance, and the light burned dimly. An envelope directed to Trascott was pinned to the table with the sheath-knife.
"Hallo!" exclaimed the lawyer. "That's odd! What's in it?"
The curate hurriedly tore open the letter with trembling fingers. He drew forth a draft on Britton's bank; the figure two followed by six ciphers, sprawling across its face, made Trascott's eyes bulge out and forced his breath in a shrill hiss between his teeth.
"God bless my soul!" he cried, and dropped the draft in extreme agitation.
Ainsworth picked it up smartly and, turning it over, read aloud a line pencilled on the back.
It ran: "For your London Homes! Mercia and I are seeking another fortune, clean and untainted!"
The lawyer whirled on his heel and looked at the wall behind him. It was clean as a new sheet. The Klondike outfits and trappings were gone!