"We come (second) to the question of life. You then occupied a body
frail, bent, and diseased, a body which, as events showed, gave way
under exceptional excitement. You are now in a body strong and healthy,
with apparently a long life before it. You admit the truth of all I
have said on these two points?"

"I quite admit it."

"Then to sum up, you are now in a better position--infinitely--both as
regards life and property, than the one from which my malignity--
ingenuity I think was your word--ah, yes--trickiness--thanks--removed
you. Now why cut your career short? Why murder _me?_ Why not live
out your life, under better conditions, in luxury and health, and thus
be completely revenged on Bernard Heaton? If you are logical, now is
the time to show it."

Allen rose slowly, holding the pistol in his right hand.

"You miserable scoundrel!" he cried. "You pettifogging lawyer--tricky
to the last! How gladly you would throw over your friend to prolong
your own wretched existence! Do you think you are now talking to a
biased judge and a susceptible, brainless jury? Revenged on Heaton? I
_am_ revenged on him already. But part of my vengeance involves
your death. Are you ready for it?"

Allen pointed the revolver at Grey, who had now also risen, his face
ashen. He kept his eyes fastened on the man he believed to be mad. His
hand crept along the wall. There was intense silence between them.
Allen did not fire. Slowly the lawyer's hand moved towards the electric
button. At last he felt the ebony rim and his fingers quickly covered