I admit. All you have done is to make murder easy for others; to get others to do the dirty work, and then shelter them and share the gain; all you need have on your conscience is every ife that was lost with the Lady Jermyn, and every soul that lost itself in losing them. You call that innocence? Then give me honest guilt! Give me the man who set fire to the ship, and who sits there eating his supper; he is more of a man than you. Give me the wretch who has beaten men to death before my eyes; there’s
“By the way,” he said, “I ought to give you my name. It’s Rattray, of one of the many Kirby Halls in this country. My one’s down in Lancashire.”
“I suppose there’s no need to tell my name?” said I, less sadly, I daresay, than I had ever yet alluded to the tragedy which I alone survived. It was an