"But could we not break it up and destroy the bad luck?" argued the girl. "It seems a pity to throw away ten thousand pounds on Major Ruck, especially as Mr. Paslow needs money."

"You will have your father's money," said Durban obstinately. "I shall make your mother give it to you. Of course, as you were thought to be dead, Lady Watson got the money, and no doubt has spent it. But she will have to refund it out of Alpenny's legacy. There will be no need to employ lawyers: I can force her to do what I want."

"Does she know that--that----" Beatrice hesitated.

"That I killed Alpenny? No; she does not know that. But she thinks that I killed my master--as though I would have hurt a hair of his dear head!"

"And I don't believe that you killed Alpenny either."

"Yes I did, missy," said Durban obstinately. "He wanted to make your life a misery, and I was right to kill him."

Beatrice said nothing for a few moments. With a white man it would have been different; but Durban had negro blood in his veins, and did not look upon murder as a more civilised person would have done. Beatrice was horrified inwardly, but she controlled herself sufficiently to keep quiet. After all, Durban had committed the crime for her sake; and much as she reprobated his wickedness--if wickedness it could be called, to kill so evil-living a man as the usurer--she could not find it in her heart to condemn him to the uttermost.

"How did you kill him?" she asked in a low voice.

"I did not go to town that night. I returned to see him, and had a quarrel in the counting-house. He was violent and flew at me. I had a struggle with him, and killed him. That is all!" he ended with apparent indifference.

Durban spoke as though he were saying a lesson. Beatrice looked at him attentively, and saw that his face had resumed the usual green colour it always took on when he was excited. The story was plausible enough. All the same, she did not believe that he was guilty any more than she believed in the guilt of Vivian. "You are innocent!" she said sharply. "Don't deny it. You accuse yourself to screen Mr. Paslow."

"Do you believe that he is guilty?" asked Durban hoarsely.

"No. I don't care what Waterloo says."

"What did he say?"

Beatrice related the whole accusation with the evidence, as detailed by Waterloo. Durban listened attentively, and wiped his face. "Guilty or innocent," he said in a strangled voice, "that evidence is sufficient to hang Mr. Paslow. I am guilty, missy."

"I don't believe it," retorted Beatrice. "Everything connected with these matters has been sordid and evil; but that you, who have always been so kind, should kill even so wicked a man as Mr. Alpenny, is ridiculous. Nothing will ever make me believe in your guilt. But here we are," she broke off abruptly; "say nothing more until we have seen my mother. We will get the necklace, and close the Major's mouth. I will question Vivian and hear what he has to say."

"No, no, missy!"

"Yes, yes!" retorted Beatrice imperiously. "I will not let you, my oldest friend--my almost father--accuse yourself of a vile crime, when I know that you would not hurt a fly."

Durban would have answered, but that they had to alight. The cab was dismissed, and Durban rang the bell. As Lady Watson proved to be at home, they were shown up into the drawing-room. The mistress of the house might have refused herself to Durban, whom she hated, but the footman said that he had been given orders to admit Miss Hedge whenever she called. This showed Beatrice two things. Firstly, that her mother really wanted to see her as often as possible, and might have some small affection left; and secondly, that she did not intend to acknowledge her as her daughter, seeing that she had given the servant the name of Miss Hedge instead of Miss Hall.

Lady Watson expressed surprise at seeing Durban, and joy at beholding Beatrice. "You dear girl!" she said, embracing her; ". I am just going out to dinner, and can only give you ten minutes.--I am surprised to see you, Durban."