"St. Mary's clock had just chimed the half-hour past ten, Mr. Hazeldine would leave the office about eleven, the London train by which I hoped to get away with my booty was due at a quarter past that hour: what I had to do must be done within the next thirty minutes, or not at all. I said to myself: 'I will wait till St. Mary's chimes the quarter to eleven, on the chance of Mr. Hazeldine again going into the strong-room, when I will spring out and shut him in. If the chance does not come by then, I will present myself before him, revolver in hand, and compel him on pain of instant death to do my bidding. When once he is shut up in the strong-room the rest will be easy. He may shout himself hoarse, but Sweet below stairs will hear nothing till he comes on his next round, by which time I and the black bag will be far away.' It is to be borne in mind that I hated Mr. Hazeldine as I hated no other man in the world. He it was who at my trial had no word of mercy to urge in my favor; to him, in a great measure, was due my sentence of penal servitude. But, for all that, I swear I had no more thought or intention of taking' his life than I had of taking my own.
"Chance favored me at the last moment, or seemed to do so. After a time Mr. Hazeldine rose, and went once more into the strong-room. Not a moment did I hesitate. Pushing open the door, behind which I had been in hiding, I sprang out into the lighted office, and made a dash for the iron door, but midway on the floor lay a pile of ledgers over which, in my hurry, I stumbled and fell. Before I could recover myself Mr. Hazeldine was upon me, and when I struggled to my feet it was with his clutch at my throat. The instant the light fell on my face he recognized me. 'Richard Varrel!' he exclaimed, as he let go his hold, and fell back a step or two in sheer amazement. A second later I had whipped out my revolver, which, however, was not loaded--but of course he didn't know that. 'Mr. Hazeldine,' I said, 'thanks to you, I'm a desperate man. I want the money in that bag, and, at whatever cost, I'm determined to have it. So, if you value your life----' But at that moment he made a quick stride forward, and knocked the revolver out of my hand, and before I could recover it he had sprung at me with a long-bladed knife, which he snatched off the table, but for what purpose it happened to be there I cannot even guess. His eyes were as the eyes of a madman; never have I seen such an expression on the face of anyone. On the instant I closed with him, and then began a life-and-death struggle, he trying to stab me, and I trying to wrench the knife from his grasp. How it all happened I shall never know, but his foot slipped, and as he fell he dragged me to the ground with him, and all at once I found the knife in my hand. He struggled desperately to recover himself, then--my God!--somehow the knife----"
Varrel had been growing weaker for several minutes past, his utterance more hollow, his breath more labored, and as the last word dropped from his lips he fainted.
Hermia at once summoned the nurse, who in her turn summoned Miss Davis. Restoratives were applied, and in a little while their patient came round. Hermia was on the point of taking her leave, with the intention of calling again on the morrow; but Varrel motioned that he had something to say to her. He could only speak in a whisper, and Hermia had to bend her ear close to him in order to catch what he said.
"Write down what I have told you--now--at once," he gasped, "and I will sign it."
So, after a few explanatory words to Miss Davis, Hermia rejoined Mr. Wingate in the ante-room, and told him as briefly as possible the particulars she wanted him to set down. Pen, ink, and paper were at hand, and it did not take him long to draw up a short document, in which Varrel acknowledged that to him, and him alone, was due the death of Mr. Hazeldine. When it was finished, Hermia went back to the ward, accompanied by Mr. Wingate. The statement was read over to Varrel, who nodded his head in approval of it. Then he was propped up in bed to enable him to sign it, after which Mr. Wingate and Miss Davis appended their signatures to the paper as witnesses.
Hermia did not see Richard Varrel again. At daybreak next morning he died.
[CHAPTER XXXVIII.]
THE CLOUD DISPERSED, AND A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT.
It was on the afternoon of the fifth day after leaving home that Hermia alighted from the London train at Ashdown station. Clement was there to meet her. She had written a few lines daily both to him and to Aunt Charlotte, just enough to allay their anxiety and nothing more.