The note given by Mr. Ormsby to Wicks was placed by that functionary on the table in Mrs. Drelincourt's boudoir. Although he had been told to deliver it at once, he took no notice of the request. His mistress was probably in her dressing room, and the note might wait till she came downstairs. He was not going to put himself out of the way to please Mr. Ormsby, whose imperative mode of addressing him had cut his superfine feelings to the quick.
On entering the room a little later, Drelincourt failed to perceive the note. He sank into an easy chair, and supporting an elbow on either of its arms, he let his chin rest on his interlocked fingers. He was awaiting the coming of his wife.
The boudoir was lighted by a large oriel window, the upper half of which contained a representation in stained glass of the coat of arms and device of the Drelincourts.
After waiting a few minutes, Drelincourt rose in order to ring the bell. The sands in his hour glass were running quickly away. As he crossed the room, he caught sight of the letter, and he at once picked it up. The superscription was in a peculiar, crabbed hand, which, as he looked at it, seemed to grow familiar under his eyes. Then the truth flashed across him: the writing was James Ormsby's. He had seen more than one specimen of it in years gone by, and his memory was a tenacious one. He could not be mistaken.
"Now, what can Ormsby have to write about to my wife?" he asked himself. "He owes me a grudge, or fancies he does, and now that, of my own accord, I have put myself beyond his reach, it would be just like him to vent the last drops of his spite on Madeline. She must not be allowed to read what he has written till I have thoroughly satisfied myself that it is fit for her to see."
Without more ado, he tore open the note. Here is what he read:
Madam:I consider it my duty to inform you that your husband has just confessed that he, and he alone, was the murderer of my sister, the first Mrs. Drelincourt.James Ormsby.
Madam:
I consider it my duty to inform you that your husband has just confessed that he, and he alone, was the murderer of my sister, the first Mrs. Drelincourt.
James Ormsby.
"The caitiff!--the coward! To aim a final blow at me through Madeline." He groaned out the words between his teeth. His strong, lean fingers gripped the note, as they would have gripped Ormsby's throat had he been there.
A tap at the door recalled him to himself. Next moment Wicks entered, carrying a letter on a salver.
"Just brought by a mounted messenger, sir. The man is waiting in case there should be any answer."
Not without surprise, Drelincourt saw that the address was in his wife's writing. He opened the envelope, extracted the contents, and read as follows:
Dear Felix:Do not be more surprised than you can help when I tell you that I am writing this at the Dun Cow Inn, Overthwaite. The explanation is very simple.I was standing on the terrace when Sir John Musgrave and Mr. Ormsby drove up, but they seemed too much preoccupied to see me. After they had entered the house, I descended the steps and turned into the drive, which I find pleasantly shady these hot afternoons. Presently I saw a dog cart coming along at a rapid pace, the driver of which pulled up on reaching me, and asked whether I was Mrs. Drelincourt. When satisfied on the point, he told me that he had been sent by his master, the landlord of the Dun Cow, to inform us that Mr. Walter Deane had been thrown by his horse, and was lying with a broken ankle at the inn in question.I must tell you that a little while before you reached home this afternoon Wally set off on the bay mare, in the hope of meeting you on your road back, and imparting to you the news about Roden Marsh, so that, if you chose to do so, you could ride direct into Sunbridge before coming to Fairlawn. How you and he missed each other I cannot imagine.Well, when the man had told me his news, I did not wait to go back to the house in order to break it to you--I had no doubt you were engaged with your visitors--or to Marian, but climbed into the dog cart beside him, and was driven here its rapidly as possible. As you know, Overthwaite is not quite three miles from Fairlawn.I found poor Walter already in the doctor's hands. The fracture is a bad one, and, as a matter of course, he will be laid up for some weeks to come. He will remain overnight where he is, and I shall stay with him; but I hope, with the doctor's sanction, to have him transferred to Fairlawn in the course of tomorrow. Perhaps you can make it convenient to ride over after breakfast and ascertain how we are getting on.I leave you to tell Marian as much or as little as you may think best.Your loving wife,Madeline.
Dear Felix:
Do not be more surprised than you can help when I tell you that I am writing this at the Dun Cow Inn, Overthwaite. The explanation is very simple.
I was standing on the terrace when Sir John Musgrave and Mr. Ormsby drove up, but they seemed too much preoccupied to see me. After they had entered the house, I descended the steps and turned into the drive, which I find pleasantly shady these hot afternoons. Presently I saw a dog cart coming along at a rapid pace, the driver of which pulled up on reaching me, and asked whether I was Mrs. Drelincourt. When satisfied on the point, he told me that he had been sent by his master, the landlord of the Dun Cow, to inform us that Mr. Walter Deane had been thrown by his horse, and was lying with a broken ankle at the inn in question.
I must tell you that a little while before you reached home this afternoon Wally set off on the bay mare, in the hope of meeting you on your road back, and imparting to you the news about Roden Marsh, so that, if you chose to do so, you could ride direct into Sunbridge before coming to Fairlawn. How you and he missed each other I cannot imagine.
Well, when the man had told me his news, I did not wait to go back to the house in order to break it to you--I had no doubt you were engaged with your visitors--or to Marian, but climbed into the dog cart beside him, and was driven here its rapidly as possible. As you know, Overthwaite is not quite three miles from Fairlawn.
I found poor Walter already in the doctor's hands. The fracture is a bad one, and, as a matter of course, he will be laid up for some weeks to come. He will remain overnight where he is, and I shall stay with him; but I hope, with the doctor's sanction, to have him transferred to Fairlawn in the course of tomorrow. Perhaps you can make it convenient to ride over after breakfast and ascertain how we are getting on.
I leave you to tell Marian as much or as little as you may think best.
Your loving wife,
Madeline.
Wicks was still waiting. Drelincourt, after considering for a few moments, said to him: "Tell the messenger there is no answer."
"It is well--it is better so," he continued half aloud, when the man had gone. "We are spared a parting, and I a confession, which would have racked the hearts of both. This will tell her all after I am gone that is needful for her to know." As he spoke, he took a sealed packet from his breast pocket and laid it on the table. It was addressed to his wife.
"She, at least, will not condemn me," he resumed. "She sees with the large eyes of love and charity. She will read and understand. My image will not be deposed in her heart. My memory will be cherished by her while she has breath to speak my name."
He took a slow turn or two from end to end of the room. Then he spoke again.
"Not long will she stay after I am gone. The thread of her life is frail--very frail. She will make haste to follow me."
A tap at the door was followed by the entrance of Marian. She paused with the open door in her hand.
"I am looking for mamma," said the girl. "I can't find her anywhere. And Wally, who ought to have been back long ago, has not yet returned. What can have become of them?"
"Shall I enlighten you? Yes? Well, then, at the present moment the pair of them may be found at the inn named Dun Cow, in the village of Overthwaite, a couple of miles away."
"But, good gracious, papa, whatever are they doing there?"
"Ah, that's a question you must not ask me, or, at any rate, one I must not answer. Perhaps I have divulged too much already. But shall I tell you what I should do in your place?"
"If you please, papa."
"I should ask Robert to drive me over in the pony chaise to the Dun Cow, and take the pair of them unawares. By so doing I fancy you will surprise them quite as much as they are plotting to surprise you."
"That will be very jolly."
"'Won't it?"
"Are you aware, papa, that Mr. Draycot is pacing the entrance hall, waiting to see you?"
"I shall be ready to see him in the course of a few minutes. By the way, you may as well give me your good night kiss before you go. I shall be engaged when you return, and shall not care to be disturbed."
Marian flung her arms round his neck in impulsive fashion, and kissed him a number of times. Then he pressed her to his heart for a moment, and it seemed to her that she heard a whispered "Heaven bless you, my child!" She glanced up into his face with a momentary surprise, for he was not used to being demonstrative; but she read nothing there. The eyes that met hers were calm and shining, and on his features was the stamp of a great serenity.
"You darling daddy!" exclaimed the girl, as she pulled his ear playfully. "You don't half know how much I love you."
When she was gone and the door shut behind, her, he could hear her singing as she went. He stood without stirring till the sound had died away.
Then a deep sigh welled up from his heart. "The last link is severed," he said, as he turned away. "Winslow will act a father's part by her till she marries. In years to come, when she has a husband and children of her own, all this will seem like a dream of old, unhappy, far off things. So, now to bid the world a long goodby!"
Taking out of his pocket the vial given him by Roden Marsh some days before, he held it up to the light. But at this moment there came another knock. Replacing the vial in his pocket, he went to the door, opened it and disclosed Draycot.
"I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Drelincourt," said the chief constable--"more sorry than I can say. But time is running on, and Mr. Ormsby's instructions were most imperative."
"Five minutes, only five more minutes, Draycot, and then, my good fellow, you shall do with me as you will."
"All right, Mr. Drelincourt. You'll excuse me, sir, I'm sure, but duty is duty." With that he shut the door, turned on his heel, and strode back to his post in the entrance hall.
Drelincourt went back to the easy chair and seated himself on one of its low, broad arms. His features were tense and drawn, but his marvelous command over himself was in no wise shaken.
"How the evening sun lights up that window and brings out the motto of my ancestors:J'espère toujours. Tojours j'espère!Who shall dare to sound the depths of infinite compassion? Even for such as I there may be hope. 'Swift and painless' were the Italian doctor's words when he gave me this." He was gazing at the vial, which lay in the palm of his hand. "Now to find out whether he spoke the truth!"
With that he stood up and put the unstoppered vial to his lips.
On quitting Fairlawn, which they did together after their interview with Drelincourt, Sir John Musgrave and Mr. Ormsby parted at the park gates, each going his own way. The baronet took the road to Sunbridge, and, picking up a brother magistrate en route, drove with him direct to the jail. There Roden Marsh was at once summoned before them, and having been severely lectured for his insane act, was forthwith ordered to be set at liberty. Mr. Drelincourt's voluntary confession that he, and he alone, was the guilty person obviated all necessity for Rodd's further confinement.
He left the jail fearing the worst, his heart tortured with anxiety of the most poignant kind. His proffered sacrifice had been contemned, and, so far as he could judge, had merely been the means of precipitating a catastrophe to avert which he would willingly have given his life's blood. His one burning desire just now was to reach Fairlawn with all possible speed.
That his being there would avail to dissuade Felix from his rash purpose he greatly doubted, but not willingly would he throw away the faintest chance. Perhaps, even now, he might be too late!
The jail at Sunbridge was little more than a stone's cast from the railway station, and no sooner was the grim portal shut behind him than he hurried off to the latter, with the intention of hiring a cab in which to be driven to Fairlawn. It was growing dark by this time, and the station lamps were being lighted one by one.
A train had arrived a few minutes earlier, and every cab but one had been engaged. Towards this one he now made his way, but only reached it in time to see the door banged by the driver, and to find that it had already an occupant. With a muttered anathema, he glanced inside the cab, and then, not a little to his surprise, saw that the person about to be driven off in it was none other than Mrs. Jenwyn.
The same instant it struck him that if her destination was Wyvern Towers, the one cab would serve the purpose of both. It appeared that the recognition had been mutual, and, in point of fact, Mrs. Jenwyn was the first to speak.
"Oh, Mr. Marsh, is that you?" she began, addressing him through the cab window. "I am very glad to see you, because you can perhaps inform me whether I am likely to find Mr. Drelincourt at Fairlawn."
"I have every reason to believe you will find him there. But--pardon the question--are you bound for Fairlawn?"
"That is my destination. I have just arrived from London, where I have been staying for the last few days, and wish to see Mr. Drelincourt, and with as little delay as possible, about a matter of very special importance."
"I, too, am bound for Fairlawn--and in a hurry," said Roden, hiding the surprise he could not help feeling. "So, as there is not another cab left on the stand, if you will kindly allow me to share yours, you will be rendering me a great service."
"Why, certainly. I shall be very glad of your company, Mr. Marsh, and we can talk as we go along."
So Roden, having given his orders to the driver, got inside, and away they rattled; but all talking was out of the question till they had left the paved streets of the town behind them, and were well out on the quiet country road.
Then said Mrs. Jenwyn: "My errand to Fairlawn is a very singular one, as I have no doubt you will admit, Mr. Marsh, when I have explained to you what it is."
"I am all curiosity," replied Roden, which was not far from being the truth.
"It is the fact, is it not, that a man named Gumley is lying under sentence of death in Sunbridge jail as being the supposed murderer of the first Mrs. Drelincourt?"
"The fact is as you state it. But why do you say as being the 'supposed' murderer of Mrs. Drelincourt?"
"Because I am in a position to prove that the man in question had nothing whatever to do with the crime for which he has been convicted, and it is with the view of laying my evidence to that effect before Mr. Drelincourt that I am now on my way to Fairlawn."
For a little while sheer amazement held Rodd speechless. But presently came a question which, under the circumstances, was almost inevitable: "You have indeed surprised me, Mrs. Jenwyn; but if you are in a position to prove Gumley's innocence, you are, perhaps, equally in a position to bring the real criminal's guilt home to him?"
"I am."
Again Rodd's thoughts held him silent for a little while. Then he said tentatively: "Mr. Drelincourt----" and then he was silent.
"What of him?"
"You say that you are on your road to see him about this very matter of Gumley's?"
"That is so."
"Then you do not know, you cannot have heard, that this very afternoon, In order to save Gumley's life, Mr. Drelincourt gave himself up as the murderer of his wife!"
"Mr. Drelincourt his wife's murderer? No! No!" The words were uttered almost in a shriek.
"That is what he has confessed to being."
"Then he has confessed to a falsehood. It is not true, I tell you. I can prove it. Mr. Drelincourt had no more hand in his wife's death than you or I had."
Rodd pinched his arm as if to convince himself that he was really awake. Was Mrs. Jenwyn in her right mind? Was she not laboring under one of those strange hallucinations to which some persons seem constitutionally liable? Perhaps she would tell him, in addition, that she herself was really the criminal!
Was there a word of truth in what she had just asseverated with such extraordinary emphasis? He greatly doubted it. And yet if there should be! The mere thought of such a thing turned him dizzy.
A burning curiosity got the better of his discretion. "The real criminal was----" He paused for a moment, as if expecting Mrs. Jenwyn to fill up the hiatus.
"Pardon me, Mr. Marsh," she said, "but what I have to reveal must first of all be told Mr. Drelincourt. When that has been done, the affair will be out of my hands. But you, in your turn, can tell me something, provided there is no objection to your doing so. By what circumstances was Mr. Drelincourt influenced in coming to his strange determination to charge himself with the commission of a crime of which he is wholly guiltless?"
Rodd told himself that, although she had not answered his question, there was no reason why he should not answer hers.
"In early life Mr. Drelincourt was addicted to walking in his sleep, and it was while he was in one of his fits of somnambulism that he believed himself to have been guilty of the death of his wife. I need not trouble you with the details of the evidence which seemed to bring the crime irresistibly home to him; it will be enough to remark that both to him and me--for all the particulars of the affair have been known to me from the first--it appeared absolutely conclusive. And yet, Mrs. Jenwyn, you now assert, and in the most positive terms, that Mr. Drelincourt's belief had absolutely no foundation of fact!"
"I do assert it, and at the proper time and place I shall be prepared to prove my words."
Roden Marsh sank back in his seat with a great sigh of contentment. However amazing it might seem, he could no longer doubt that Mrs. Jenwyn was in a position to carry out all that she had undertaken to do. Her words and manner were convincing.
About the details of the story she had come prepared to tell he cared little; it was enough for him to know that the dread burden which had weighed upon them for so many years would at length be lifted off the shoulders of his beloved foster brother, never to be reimposed. With the question of whose shoulders it was about to be transferred to he did not trouble himself at all.
But a moment later he cried out: "Shall I get there in time? Shall I arrive before it is to late?" They were questions which lit a flame of torment within him.
He took out his repeater and struck the hour. Then, protruding his head and half his body out of the cab window, he shouted to the man on the box: "Drive hard--drive fast! There will be a sovereign for you if you get there in a quarter of an hour."
The driver gave a whoop and cracked his whip. Never had the old horse in the fly been driven at such a pace before.
To return to Drelincourt. As has been said, he had the unstoppered vial to his lips, and was about to drain the contents, when the door was thrown open and Roden Marsh rushed into the room.
With one sweep of his arm he dashed the bottle from Drelincourt's hand, crying out: "Thank God, I am not too late!"
But Drelincourt gazed at him with reproachful eyes.
"Why have you thwarted me, Rodd?" he said.
"Because you would have made the most frightful mistake of your life; because there is no need of your sacrificing yourself for Gumley; because the real murderer has been discovered!"
Rodd got out all this in a breath and then dropped into a chair, panting from the haste with which he had come and the excitement which possessed him.
"The real murderer has been discovered!" Drelincourt gasped. "Then I----"
"Had nothing whatever to do with it, as Mrs. Jenwyn will tell you. She is here now, waiting impatiently to see you."
"But what has she----"
"That she will tell you herself. I will bring her at once;" And Rodd started up.
But Drelincourt laid a detaining hand on his shoulder.
"Wait," he said. "Give me a few moments. I can scarcely realize yet that--that I am not in another world."
It was ten minutes later that Mrs. Jenwyn and Drelincourt were left alone.
They had shaken hands, and, at her host's request, she had seated herself on a chair opposite his own, on the other side of the hearth.
Drelincourt lost no time in coming to the point.
"Roden Marsh tells me that you are the bearer of some very remarkable news," he said, "and, in point of fact, that your visit here tonight was on purpose to make it known to me. Is that so, may I ask?"
"It was that, and nothing else, which brought me to Fairlawn."
"I am given to understand that the information you wish to impart to me is concerned with the death of my first wife."
"That is so."
"You know already from Roden Marsh that I have all along laid her death at my own door. I had every reason for believing that I had killed her while in a somnambulistic state, but Roden tells me you assert most positively that my belief was utterly baseless."
"I do assert it, Mr. Drelincourt."
"Such an assertion presupposes a knowledge on your part of the guilty person."
Mrs. Jenwyn bowed.
"Are you prepared to name the person in question?"
"I am."
"Yes?"
Mr. Drelincourt sat up in his chair. A hectic spot burned in either cheek. His whole frame was a-tingle with excitement.
"The person to whom your first wife owed her death was none other than your half sister, Anna Drelincourt."
Slowly, clearly, and unhesitatingly fell the words. Mrs. Jenwyn had come purposely to declare the truth, and the more simply she put it the better.
"Great Heavens! You don't mean to say that!"
"I have told you the simple truth."
For a little while they sat in silence. Drelincourt seemed utterly overcome. Anna's name was the last he would have picked out with all the world to choose from. And yet----
"Go on, please. Tell me all you know of the dreadful affair," he said, after a time.
"Anna, poor girl, was no more mistress of her actions at the time it happened than you, Mr. Drelincourt, had reason to believe yourself to be master of yours. Just then she was laboring under one of her recurrent attacks of mania. At such times, as you are aware, in all her actions, thoughts, and habits, she became again as a child of ten.
"But there were occasions when darker symptoms would betray themselves, when I caught little glimpses below the surface which caused even me who knew her so well and loved her so dearly to tremble and ask myself what still darker fate the future might have in store for her. Of such symptoms, however, I said nothing to any one. Where would have been the use of my doing so? No one could help her, nothing more could be done for her than had been already done. The future must be left to care for itself.
"To come to the fatal morning.
"Anna and I slept in separate rooms, with a door between, which, by her wish, was always kept open at night. I may add that it was my practice to sleep with my bunch of keys under my pillow. On the morning in question I awoke earlier than usual, and while the day was still very young. There was upon me an uneasy sense of something being wrong.
"Instinctively I felt for my keys. They were gone. I was out of bed in an instant, and, crossing to Anna's room, I looked in. It was empty. Then I noticed that the outer door of my room, which opened into the anteroom, was slightly ajar. Only giving myself time to thrust my feet into a pair of slippers and to wrap a shawl round my shoulders, I started to look for Anna, dreading I knew not what.
"The first thing I saw was my bunch of keys hanging from the lock of the baize covered door, one of which had been used to open it. From the anteroom I passed into the corridor, the doors opening into which were all shut, and so went swiftly forward till I reached the gallery at the head of the great staircase. Still there was no sign of Anna.
"While hesitating what to do next, I perceived that the door of Mrs. Drelincourt's dressing room was partly open. It seemed to me a most unlikely thing that I should find Anna there, yet it was impossible to answer for her actions while she was as she was. Before descending to the lower parts of the house I would satisfy myself so far. (I knew that you, sir, were away at the Cot.) Pushing wider the dressing room door, I went in and then paused. A slight noise in the bedroom drew me forward; on the soft carpet my footsteps were inaudible.
"Peeping cautiously through the divided portière, I beheld Anna standing by Mrs. Drelincourt's bed, still grasping the stiletto with which she had just accomplished her dreadful purpose. Her face was towards me, and the expression it wore just then I can never forget; my dreams were haunted by it for months afterwards. While gazing thus at her handiwork, a low maniacal laugh broke from her lips. A moment later she tossed the stiletto away, and made for the portière. I had barely time to shelter myself behind a screen before she passed me, going straight out of the room.
"Scarcely had she disappeared before I was in the bed chamber. I quickly satisfied myself that Mrs. Drelincourt was dead. For her nothing could be done, and my one thought now was how I could best screen the culprit. When I got back to my rooms, I found her fast asleep in bed, a lovely color mantling her cheeks, and her lips parted with a childlike smile.
"That morning, I remember, she slept a little later than usual, but when she awoke she was as gay and as full of innocent fun as, at such times, she nearly always was. She had slain Mrs. Drelincourt (whom, I have reason to know, she secretly hated) in a temporary access of homicidal mania, but her memory, on awaking, retained no recollection of it whatever."
Mrs. Jenwyn ceased speaking, and Drelincourt was slow to break the silence which ensued.
At length he said: "You have succeeded in astonishing me more, Mrs. Jenwyn, than I was ever astonished before. But that is a point on which I will not expatiate at present. May I take it that you never said anything to my poor sister about what you had witnessed in my wife's bed room?"
"Not a hint nor a syllable about it ever passed my lips to her."
"So that she lived and died in utter ignorance of that terrible morning's work?"
Mrs. Jenwyn bowed affirmatively.
"From the bottom of my heart, madam, I thank you for your wise reticence. While it would have benefited nobody to have revealed what you knew to Anna, it would have distressed her infinitely, and, in all probability, would have tended to shorten her life. For her sake I shall always hold myself your debtor. But tell me this, please. In case Gumley, after his arrest twenty years ago, had been brought to trial and found guilty, as he has been now, what action would have been taken by you? Or should you have taken any at all?"
"I should have done at that time precisely what I have done today: I should have sought an interview with you, and have revealed to you everything that was known to me."
It was evident to Drelincourt that Mrs. Jenwyn had been actuated by precisely the same motives that had prevailed with himself.
To the widow it seemed that the time had now come when she might ask a question on her own account.
"And now, sir, that I have told you all this," she said, "will you kindly inform me, in return, what step it will be needful for me to take."
Mr. Drelincourt considered for a few moments. Then he said: "As it seems to me, the proper thing to do will be for both of us to put in an appearance in the morning before the Sunbridge magistrates, when you can depose on oath to the truth of what you have told me here tonight. What will happen after that I cannot tell. The joint wisdom of our friends on the bench will decide that point for us."
After a little further conversation, the housekeeper was summoned, and Mrs. Jenwyn given into her charge. Breakfast would be on the table at nine, her host told her, and at ten the brougham would be in readiness to drive them into Sunbridge.
The arrangement made by Drelincourt overnight was duly carried into effect next morning. The brougham conveyed Mrs. Jenwyn and him into Sunbridge, where they presented themselves before the bench of magistrates.
At Drelincourt's request he was sworn first. To recapitulate his statement would be superfluous, what he had to tell being known to us already. Then came Mrs. Jenwyn's turn, the nature of whose evidence is equally known to us. After that the magistrates retired to their private room in order to consult together, with the result that the case was adjourned for a couple of days to allow of their taking legal opinion in the interim, bail being accepted for the reappearance of Drelincourt and Mrs. Jenwyn.
At the adjourned inquiry no charge was preferred against the former, but the widow was committed for trial at the autumn assizes, on the count of being accessory after the fact to the murder of the first Mrs. Drelincourt. That such a charge, bearing in mind the peculiar character of the case, should involve any more severe penalty than a very limited term of imprisonment was what nobody believed or expected. Meanwhile, Mrs. Jenwyn was released on bail, the surety for her appearance at the assize bar being no other than Felix Drelincourt.
Long before this the latter had told everything to his wife. With what passed between them on the occasion we have nothing to do. This, however, may be said; that, woman-like, Mrs. Drelincourt thought far more of the lack of confidence in her as a wife which her husband's confession revealed than she did of anything else he had to tell her.
When the Sunbridge autumn assizes came on, Mrs. Jenwyn failed to put in an appearance, nor was she anywhere to be found. As a consequence, Mr. Drelincourt's bail was estreated, for which he was by no means sorry. He would rather have forfeited the amount twice over than have had the details of poor Anna's unhappy story related in a court of justice.
Some time before this Gumley had been released under an order from the Home Office.