"Hawkins, just stick that in my suit-case."
Alone, later, the valet opened and examined the package, and found, as he suspected, that it contained another revolver, hammerless, sinister, ominous.
"Suicide in Maine!" He emitted a whistle, and added: "Not if I know it, Mr. Wilkinson."
He discussed at length with Murgatroyd the ease with which Wilkinson might throw himself overboard, or might shoot or poison himself in his stateroom. But "Hawkins, it's up to you to see that he doesn't ..." was all the satisfaction that he received from the District Attorney.
Their preparations completed, Hawkins now stepped into the presence of his master, and announced:
"Colonel Morehead, sir, to see you."
Wilkinson descended to his Den, entered and locked the door behind him. After fifteen minutes of desultory conversation, he held out his hand, and said, his voice trembling:
"Good-bye, old boy! We shall never meet in life again—good-bye!"
Colonel Morehead stared curiously at his client. He asked no questions, but merely took Peter's hand within his own and pressed it hard.
"Good-bye, Peter," was all he said.