Gurth Egerton’s first feeling when saved from the wreck of the Bon Espoir was one of intense thankfulness that his life had been spared. But as the fearful danger to which he had been exposed receded, he began to contemplate the past less and the future considerably more.

The most terrible situations are those which fade most rapidly from the mind. A man will remember going to the dentist’s to have a tooth drawn long after he has forgotten a surgical operation in which his life was at stake. There is nothing so soon forgotten by the ordinary mind as death. Many men would remember being best man at a wedding far more distinctly than being chief mourner at a funeral.

So it was with Gurth Egerton.

After the first few days on board the Diana, his marvellous escape seemed a trifling incident in his career, and his whole thinking capacity was exercised in the solution of this difficulty—what should he do when he got to England?

The theory that murderers are always haunted by remorse is an absurd one. Murderers are in many instances very ordinary persons. They wash their hands, forget their crime, and tread their path in life with firm footsteps. A murderer may go to the play, entertain his friends at dinner, eat strawberries and cream, and cry when his favourite dog dies. ‘Once a murderer always a murderer,’ is not a proverb in any language. It is most probable that the authors of the undiscovered crimes of recent years are now considered very respectable members of society. For all we know they may pay their debts with regularity, subscribe to school treats, help old ladies over crossings, and live in houses which are distinguished for the whitest window-curtains and cleanest doorsteps. They may sleep soundly, digest their food, and shiver with indignation when a ruffiany labourer is charged with assaulting his wife. Murders are committed, as a rule, under exceptional circumstances, and a murderer may look back upon ‘his little misfortune’ with occasional regret, but it is doubtful if ever he felt the least desire to give himself up or to exchange his liberty for a prison cell.

There is, however, a difference in murders. Some people are so anxious to acquire the title that they voluntarily accuse themselves of crimes of which they are innocent. Others give themselves up with a romantic story about their conscience having compelled them to do so. In most of these instances, if it is a man he has been drinking hard, and if it is a woman she is hysterical. Self-preservation is the first law of nature, and, as long as a murderer’s mind is well balanced, he will bury his crime as deep as possible and forget it as soon as he can.

The idea that murderers are haunted for ever by the memory of their guilt is as fallacious as the smug proverb that ‘Murder will out.’ For one murder that comes to light there are ten that remain in eternal darkness.

It is time, however, to leave murderers in general to their peaceful enjoyments, and return to Mr. Gurth Egerton, the rescued passenger of the Bon Espoir, and to say somethin» of his antecedents.

His uncle, Ralph’s father, had been a man who late in life came into enormous wealth—a man who, having led a life of extravagance in his youth, and breathed an atmosphere of debt and difficulty, found himself, when the capacity for enjoyment was gone, the possessor of a vast fortune.

The old man’s whole nature seemed changed with his circumstances. He had squandered when he was poor; he pinched now he was rich. He had been generous when he was paying sixty per cent, for cash; he was mean to a degree now he had thousands invested in good security. He shut himself up in one of his houses, furnishing only three rooms, and cried over the expense of having a doctor to keep him alive. He quarrelled fiercely with his only son, Ralph, grudged him the paltry allowance which in his hard-up days he had cheerfully paid, and admitted only one person to his confidence.

That person was his nephew Gurth, his dead brother’s son, he had been fearful that Gurth would come upon him for assistance, or would expect a gift. Gurth did nothing of the sort, and the old man could have hugged him. But Gurth’s good qualities were positive as well as negative. Gurth was in a fast set of young spendthrifts, and rich heirs and minors, who paid ninety per cent, for money, and he brought the old man their bills, and always brought him the best.

No one knew where Gurth got the money. ‘His friend in the City’ was a mystery to all the set. He didn’t choose to say it was his uncle. Gurth made money out of the transactions, too, and he was useful in advising the old miser when to sue for his money and when to renew, for he was in the confidence of his reckless companions, and they thought him a jolly good fellow to get their paper melted for them.

Old Ralph always promised Gurth to remember him in his will, and he did so after his own fashion.

He left all he possessed to his only son for life, and on his death without issue the property was to pass to Gurth. The old miser may have had some idea that by leaving it this way Gurth would try to prevent Ralph squandering his fortune—that it would make him a sort of custodian of the hoarded wealth he loved.

Gurth, who had counted upon a thumping legacy, was bitterly disappointed, and conceived a violent dislike to his cousin. He was, however, too shrewd to show it openly.

He looked the situation in the face, and convinced himself that Ralph’s was a short life. Ralph inherited the family failing, and drink and dissipation had already wrecked a vigorous constitution.

‘Ralph Egerton will kill himself in a year, at the rate he’s going on,’ said people; and, seeing that the young man was already on the verge of delirium tremens, their prophecy was reasonable.

Gurth was satisfied on the whole when he thought matters out. He was the constant companion of his cousin, and kept him well surrounded with the means of shortening his career.

He introduced him to the gambling den of Josh Heckett, and shared in the plunder. He was only drawing on account—that was his idea. If Ralph Egerton was to lose money, his money, what could be fairer than that he should lose it to him?

It was after his introduction to the Soho establishment that a great change came over Ralph. Gurth detected it, sought the cause, and found it.

Gertie Heckett, Josh’s pretty daughter, was at the bottom of it.

Gurth fancied that it was a vulgar amour, and nothing more. He let it run its course, seeing in it only one more link in the chain that bound Ralph Egerton to evil company.

But one day Ralph, who had been sober for a month, broke out badly, and grew quarrelsome.

Gurth kept his temper and refused to quarrel. It didn’t suit him to part company with Ralph. One day he came suddenly upon Gertie at Ralph’s house in St. John’s Wood. The girl was coming out white-faced and red-eyed as Gurth want in. He questioned the servant.

The young woman had come there in great trouble, and said she must see Mr. Egerton at once. Mr. Egerton had seen her, and there had been high words. She had gone away crying. That was all the servant could say.

That afternoon Gurth ‘tapped’ Ralph on the subject, and Ralph resented it. He was still under the influence of a long drinking bout, and his tongue was unguarded. In his rage he taunted Gurth with hanging about and waiting for him to die, that he might have his money.

‘You’re murdering me, you devil!’ he shouted, his face distorted with passion. ‘You’re murdering me in your slimy serpent way, you know you are! You want me to drink myself to death, don’t you? But I’ll do you yet, my fine scheming gentleman.’

‘You’re drunk,’ answered Gurth, biting his lip, ‘or you wouldn’t speak to me like that.’

‘I’m sober enough to tear the mask from your ugly face!’ shouted Ralph; ‘and you can retire from business. Your game’s up. You’ll never have a penny of my money, you sneak—not a penny!’

‘What do you mean?’ said Gurth, hoarsely.

‘I mean that I have played a trump card, and that you can spare yourself any further trouble on my behalf, Mr. Gurth Egerton. I’m married!’

‘You lie, you drunken fool!’ cried Gurth, springing up and seizing him by the arm.

Ralph shook him off.

‘Touch me again,’ he shouted, ‘and I’ll have you kicked out of the house, you dirty adventurer! Gertie put me up to your tricks. Gertie’s a good girl, and I’ve married Gertie. There now! how do you like it?’

For a moment Gurth stood staring in blank surprise at the drunken man. Was this truth, or was it a tipsy boast? With a supreme effort he conquered his anger, and sat down quietly opposite his cousin.

‘I congratulate you, Ralph,’ he said; ‘you might have done much worse.’

‘Damn your compliments!’ muttered Ralph, reaching across to the brandy bottle, and pouring out half a tumblerful. ‘Keep ‘em! I married Gertie to settle your hash. We’ve been married six months, and to-morrow I’m going to make it public. She’s a jolly good girl,’ he added, with a maudlin softness in his voice, ‘and it’s my duty to let her position be known. She’s my lawful wife, Gurth Egerton, and you can say good-bye to my money, old fellow. Better luck next time.’

With which compliment Ralph tossed off the brandy, and rolled his eyes about more wildly than ever.

Gurth Egerton bit his lip and turned his face away lest Ralph should see how white it was.

He was convinced that the drunkard spoke the truth, and he saw that his hopes were shattered. Ralph was married, and he would have children. Much in Gertie’s conduct lately was clear as the noon to him now, and he understood why lately she had kept out of the way when the men were about.

His worst fears were realized. Ralph Egerton had swept fortune from him just as it seemed within his grasp.

The pair sat in silence for full five minutes. In those five minutes a daring scheme had matured itself in the brain of the one.

‘Ralph, old boy,’ said Gurth, ‘shake hands. I’m sorry we’ve quarrelled. If I can do anything to help you and Gertie I will.

It is rough on me, I own, but you’ve a perfect right to do as you like, and I shall accept my fate quietly. Let’s have a drink and shake hands.’

Gurth poured out some brandy—a little for himself, nearly a tumblerful for Ralph.

‘Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Egerton,’ said Gurth, raising his glass and sipping the contents.

‘Gertie—God bless her!’ said Ralph, pouring half the raw liquor down his throat.

He put the glass down and came across to Gurth.

‘Gurth, my boy,’ he said, with a foolish smile, ‘I forgive you. I was jolly rude just now, wasn’t I? God bless you!’

And thereupon Ralph grew quite confidential, and shook hands over and over again with his cousin; and Gurth learned that the marriage was a secret as yet, that Josh didn’t know anything about it, and that Ralph had the certificate among his papers upstairs.

That night Ralph was at Heckett’s, and a quarrel arose over cards. Shortly afterwards he was buried, on the certificate of Dr. Oliver Birnie, and his fortune passed into the hands of Gurth Egerton, in accordance with the old misers will; for Gertie lay out of her mind and dying slowly, and no one but Gurth himself knew of the marriage certificate.

Gurth Egerton, recovering rapidly under the kind surgeon’s care from the illness which his shipwreck and long immersion had caused, sat on the deck of the Diana and thought out his plans for the future.

The vessel was bound for Baltimore, but he would take the first ship and go home again, What should he do when he landed in England? He had been travelling for years, leaving his affairs to be managed by his friend, Birnie. He was haunted by a constant terror, not that his crime would come to light, but that he might lose the result of it.

On the last afternoon he spent with Ralph Egerton, the dipsomaniac had boasted of having the marriage certificate in his own keeping. That certificate Gurth had never been able to find among the papers of which he had taken possession.

He had furnished the house which the old miser had occupied in the street off Russell Square and carried everything there, leaving Birnie to live at Ralph’s villa at St. John’s Wood. But, though he found hundreds of documents relating to the affairs of the deceased, there was no sign of the paper he so particularly wished to destroy.

He felt sure that the marriage had been performed before a registrar, and he could easily have ascertained where, but that would have been a dangerous step. It was to his interest that no attention should be attracted to the subject by inquiries about it.

There was nothing to connect him specially with the death of his cousin. Every one present on the occasion was equally liable to suspicion, and the only man who might have spoken, perhaps, had he liked, was bound in his own interest to hold his peace.

Birnie had shown him the false certificate of death which he had signed to avoid scandal, and it had not been a bad day’s work for the young doctor.

From that moment, without a word passing between them, it had been understood that Birnie lived rent-free, and had an allowance of so much a year out of the estate. To do him justice, Birnie had not been extortionate, and Gurth himself marvelled occasionally that he did not make a freer use of the power he undoubtedly possessed.

He had left Birnie not only manager of his affairs during his absence, but executor in case of his dying. With the exception of a legacy of £500 to the housekeeper, Mrs. Turvey, and £2,000 to Birnie, the whole of the property was left, in the event of his death without issue, to the nearest surviving relative of Ralph Egerton. Nothing, however, was to be touched till the anniversary of his death, and on that day a sealed letter was to be opened by his solicitors.

In this letter Gurth set forth the fact that he had heard a rumour that Ralph had been married. He left it to be inferred that had the wife or child, if there was one, at any time lodged a claim, he should instantly have recognised it, but no wife or child had ever come forward. He charged his executors to make diligent inquiry, and ascertain who was the nearest living relative of his late cousin.

This was a kind of death bed repentance. Gurth felt conscious that the record of the marriage would be advertised for, and, the books being searched, would be found, and then the property he had enjoyed during his lifetime would pass to the rightful owner.

That was the condition of affairs when he left England; but now a change had come. He had confessed to the murder of his cousin, and, as he had been picked up, so the clergyman who had received his confession might have been picked up. Hurrying to England there might be a ship with the clergyman on board. It might, for all he knew, be an ocean race between accuser and accused. Had he not firmly believed that his fate was certain, he would have kept his secret. He had regretted his rashness five minutes afterwards, but it was too late.

Then came the wreck, and he knew no more till he opened his eyes on board the Diana.

His presence of mind, which had deserted him in the hour of danger, had returned in the hour of safety.

He had given his name as George Englehardt when asked by the ship authorities. At any rate, it should be imagined that Gurth Egerton had perished until it was certain that his fellow-passenger, the clergyman, was lost.

He took the first ship from Baltimore, and as he neared England his plans were complete. He would let it be believed he was drowned until all chance of his accuser turning up had vanished.

So he came to London, and steadily avoided for a time all places where he was likely to be recognized.

But one night, impelled by curiosity to see his house, he crept past it in the dark.

Standing in the shadow of the opposite side, he saw Jabez Duck come out. What was Grigg and Limpet’s clerk doing there at that time of night?

Shortly afterwards he saw what he supposed to be a lady bring home a little girl he had never seen before. A strange fear took possession of him. Knowing what he knew, he jumped to the conclusion that the certificate had been found during his absence, that Heckett had been communicated with, and that the child was the child of Ralph’s dead wife.

That Grigg and Limpet’s solicitor and this little girl should be at the house alarmed him. As ‘the wicked flee when none pursueth,’ so do the guilty always connect the most trifling circumstances with the discovery they most dread.

Presently he noticed that the door was ajar, and he crept up and peered in. Something might, perhaps, give him an idea of who the present occupants were.

At that moment the child cameinto the hall and saw his face. Her shriek of ‘Aunty!’ brought up Mrs. Turvey, and the result was that Gurth Egerton glided rapidly away, satisfied on two points—that the child was only his housekeeper’s niece, and that he was evidently supposed to have been drowned in the Bon Espoir, and was now a full-blown ghost.

Soon after that he saw the advertisements for proofs of his death in the papers, and also a request that ‘Mr. George Englehardt,’ the rescued passenger, would call on Messrs. Grigg and Limpet.

Evidently the ghost story had been put about, and there was a difficulty in deciding that his property could be dealt with.

He had never intended that it should be. Long before the time when a penny could be touched or anything be sold, he would take his place in society again, with a marvellous tale, if necessary, of his adventures and hairbreadth escapes.

He wanted to wait until he was quite certain that the clergyman of the Bon Espoir had not been rescued, and then, all fear being over, the sea should give up her dead.

His time of concealment was, however, considerably shortened by an accident.

Standing under a doorway one evening to escape a violent storm, he heard a cry from the opposite side, and the next moment he saw Grigg and Limpet’s clerk hurrying towards him.

Obeying his first impulse, he ran away; but Jabez caught him up and seized him by the arm.

Then he felt that all concealment was at an end.

‘Hulloh Duck, how are you?’ he said quietly, as if nothing had happened. ‘I thought you were a garrotter.’

Jabez stood looking at him, the picture of blank amazement.

‘Mr. Egerton,’ he stammered, ‘I——’

But the ghost interrupted him curtly:

‘I’m in a hurry now. Tell Grigg and Limpet I’ll call on them to-morrow.’

And on went Mr. Egerton, leaving Jabez to go home through the pouring rain with a piece of information which astonished the little birthday party considerably, and brought Miss Georgina out of the coal-cellar long before the thunderstorm had subsided.