So, if Justine only holds to my alibi,
by God! I will marry her, for she would be a badge of respectability.
I'll take no more chances after this--not another single chance!
I've got money enough to satisfy Jack Blunt. He shall secretly sell
the jewels for me--a small lot, here and there, a few at a time."
"There is just one frightful risk to run," he muttered, as he
reached out for his brandy flask. "Ram Lal might go in to save his
twenty-five thousand pounds, for the Johnstone estate will never pay
these disputed claims which I cannot prove in law. Good in honor,
but bad in law! And if he should denounce me privately to the Viceroy,
as the real murderer of Hugh Fraser? He is there on the ground. I
did not denounce him. I did not produce the dagger. I dare not to
explain why I concealed the crime. An accessory! He might seek to
turn Queen's evidence, and even try to hang me. He is rich, sly,
smart. By God! they may even now be shadowing me. Once on English
soil, I am at Anstruther's mercy." He was still white-faced and
unmanned as he took the Boulogne boat the next evening. "I must
face Anstruther, get my money, and then telegraph to Justine my
departure for India from London. I'll wire the poor woman from here
now. A few loving words will cheer her. Her true heart is the only
jewel I have that I have not stolen. Poor girl! she will miss me
sorely!" And the handsome blackguard sighed over the ruin he had
wrought--an honest woman's shattered peace of mind.
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