"Then why the devil didn't you tell me last night?" exclaimed Merriton
angrily, jumping out of bed. "You knew the--the truth about Mr. Wynne's
disappearance, and yet you deliberately let that man go out to his death.
If anything's happened to James Collins, Borkins, I'll--I'll wring your
damned neck. Understand?"

Borkins went a shade or two paler, and took a step backward.

"Sir Nigel, sir--I--"

"When did Collins go?"

"'Arf past eight, sir!" Borkins' voice trembled a little. "And believe
me or not, sir, I did my best to persuade Collins from doin' such an
extremely dangerous thing. I begged 'im not to think o' doin' it, but
Collins is pig-'eaded, if you'll forgive the word, sir, and he was bent
upon gettin' your papers. I swear, sir, I ain't 'ad anythin' ter do with
it, and when 'e didn't come back last night before I went to bed I said
to meself, I said, 'Collins 'as dropped into a public 'ouse and made a--a
ass of hisself', I said. And thought no more about it, expectin' he'd be
in later. But 'is bed 'asn't been slept in, and there 's no sign of 'im
anywhere."

Merriton twisted round upon his heel and looked at the man keenly for a
moment.

"I'm fond of Collins, Borkins," he said abruptly. "We've known each other
a long time. I shouldn't like anything to happen to the chap while he's
in my service, that's all. Get out now and make enquiries in every