“My God! Light a match,” he said.
Bainbridge did so and, stepping over the prone figure, lit the gas with trembling hands.
Villiers was quite dead. His gun lay by his side, and in a little pool of blood by his right temple a crumpled letter lay, face up.
“Nothing should be touched,” said Blackburn, “until the proper steps have been taken—except——”
Bainbridge stooped and lifted the bloody page.
“Except this,” he said, and, folding it carefully, put it in his wallet.
· · · · · · ·
When, many hours later, Blackburn was aboard his ship, he locked his cabin door, and Bainbridge, who had accompanied him for the purpose, spread out the sheet and read it slowly.
“My Dear Frank:
“Your rather extraordinary epistle has reached me, and I assure you it was quite unnecessary. You surely do not expect me to have lived all these years alone and to have known men as I do without realizing that I could scarcely expect you to live the life of a celibate in the ‘Far East.’ In this strange little game of life we must take our pleasures as they come, and I have taken mine even as I have not prevented you from taking yours. Foolish boy! If you expected me to have hysterics over your self-imposed confession you may be relieved to know that I merely laughed at it. We are all in the same boat, we sinners, so why should one of us cavil at another? Cheer up and don’t take life so seriously.