"No!" said Barnabas, "it is you who must go away--at once. You must leave London to-night!"

"W-what d' you mean?"

"You must be clear of England by to-morrow night at latest."

Barrymaine stared up at Barnabas wide-eyed and pa.s.sed his tongue to and fro across his lips before he spoke again:

"Beverley, w-what d' you--mean?"

"I know why you keep your right hand hidden!" said Barnabas.

Barrymaine shivered suddenly, but his fixed stare never wavered, only, as he crouched there, striving to speak yet finding no voice, upon his furrowed brow and pallid cheek ran glittering lines of sweat. At last he contrived to speak again, but in a whisper now:

"W-what do you mean?"

"I mean that tonight I found this sc.r.a.p of cloth, and I recognized it as part of the cuff of your sleeve, and I found it clenched in Jasper Gaunt's dead hand."

With a hoa.r.s.e, gasping cry Barrymaine cast himself face down upon the floor again and writhed there like one in agony.

"I d-didn't mean to--oh, G.o.d! I never m-meant it!" he groaned and, starting to his knees, he caught at Barnabas with wild, imploring hands: "Oh, Beverley, I s-swear to you I n-never meant to do it.

I went there tonight to l-learn the truth, and he th-threatened me--threatened me, I tell you, s-so we fought and he was s-strong and swung me against the w-wall. And then, Beverley--as we s-struggled--somehow I g-got hold of--of the dagger and struck at him--b-blindly. And--oh, my G.o.d, Beverley--I shall never forget how he--ch-choked! I can hear it now! But I didn't mean to--do it. Oh, I s-swear I never meant it, Beverley--s-so help me, G.o.d!"

"But he is dead," said Barnabas, "and now--"

"Y-you won't give me up, Beverley?" cried Barrymaine, clinging to his knees. "I wronged you, I know--n-now, but don't g-give me up.

I'm not afraid to d-die like a g-gentleman should, but--the gallows--oh, my G.o.d!"

"No, you must be saved--from that!"

"Ah--w-will you help me?"

"That is why I came."

"W-what must I do?"

"Start for Dover--to-night."

"Yes--yes, Dover. B-but I have no money."

"Here are twenty guineas, they will help you well on your way. When they are gone you shall have more."

"Beverley, I--wronged you, but I know now who my c-creditor really is--I know who has been m-my enemy all along--oh, blind f-fool that I've been,--but I know--now. And I think it's t-turned my brain.

Beverley,--my head's all confused--wish D-Dig were here. But I shall be better s-soon. It was D-Dover you said, I think?"

"Yes,--but now, take off that coat."

"B-but it's the only one I've got!"

"You shall have mine," said Barnabas and, throwing aside his cloak, he stripped off that marvellous garment (whose flattened revers were never to become the vogue, after all), and laid it upon the table beside Barrymaine who seemed as he leaned there to be shaken by strange twitchings and tremblings.

"Oh, Beverley," he muttered, "it would have been a good th-thing for me if somebody had s-strangled me at birth. No!--d-don't light the candle!" he cried suddenly, for Barnabas had sought and found the tinder-box, "don't! d-don't!"

But Barnabas struck and the tinder caught, then, as the light came, Barrymaine shrank away and away, and, crouching against the wall, stared down at himself, at his right sleeve ripped and torn, and at certain marks that spattered and stained him, here and there, awful marks much darker than the cloth. Now as he looked, a great horror seemed to come upon him, he trembled violently and, stumbling forward, sank upon his knees beside the table, hiding his sweating face between his arms. And, kneeling thus, he uttered soft, strange, unintelligible noises and the table shook and quivered under him.

"Come, you must take off that coat!"

Very slowly Barrymaine lifted his heavy head and looked at Barnabas with dilating eyes and with his mouth strangely drawn and twisted.

"Oh, Beverley!" he whispered, "I--I think I'm--"

"You must give me that coat!" persisted Barnabas.

Still upon his knees, Barrymaine began to fumble at the b.u.t.tons of that stained, betraying garment but, all at once, his fingers seemed to grow uncertain, they groped aimlessly, fell away, and he spoke in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, while upon his lip was something white, like foam.

"I--oh I--Beverley, I--c-can't!"

And now, all at once, as they stared into each other's eyes, Barnabas leaning forward, strong and compelling, Barrymaine upon his knees clinging weakly to the table, sudden and sharp upon the stillness broke a sound--an ominous sound, the stumble of a foot that mounted the stair.

Uttering a broken cry Barrymaine struggled up to his feet, strove desperately to speak, his distorted mouth flecked with foam, and beating the air with frantic hands pitched over and thudded to the floor.

Then the door opened and Mr. Smivvle appeared who, calling upon Barrymaine's name, ran forward and fell upon his knees beside that convulsed and twisted figure.

"My G.o.d, Beverley!" he cried, "how comes he like this--what has happened?"

"Are you his friend?"

"Yes, yes, his friend--certainly! Haven't I told you the hand of a Smivvle, sir--"

"Tonight he killed Jasper Gaunt."

"Eh? Killed? Killed him?"

"Murdered him--though I think more by accident than design."

"Killed him! Murdered him!"

"Yes. Pull yourself together and listen. Tomorrow the hue and cry will be all over London, we must get him away--out of the country if possible."

"Yes, yes--of course! But he's ill--a fit, I think."

"Have you ever seen him so before?"

"Never so bad as this. There, Barry, there, my poor fellow! Help me to get him on the couch, will you, Beverley?"

Between them they raised that twitching form; then, as Mr. Smivvle stooped to set a cushion beneath the restless head, he started suddenly back, staring wide-eyed and pointing with a shaking finger.

"My G.o.d!" he whispered, "what's that? Look--look at his coat."