‘I then said: “Very well, Mr. Craig, there is one alternative left to me--I resign my position in the bank. You force me to do this.”
‘He was relentless. So I was cast on the world, at my age. I had no hope of obtaining another situation. But what else could I do? By remaining in the service of the bank, and allowing Mr. Craig to make it the channel for disposing of false money, I was betraying my trust to the bank. The truth was I ought to have done a year before what I did then.
‘My savings amounted to about a hundred pounds.
‘Soon after this final step I discovered, to my equal grief and astonishment, that Miss Juana had left her father’s house--doubtless he had practically driven her forth--and was earning her living in a travelling circus. I ascertained where the circus was, and I had an interview with Miss Juana one night after the performance. Miss Juana was in her circus-dress, a curiously showy riding-habit, and she had paint on her dear face. The interview was inexpressibly painful to me. I cannot narrate it in full.
‘I said: “Miss Juana, marry me. I implore you! Never mind your father’s consent. Anything to save you from this. I implore you to marry me! I love you more than ever.”
‘I did not tell her that I had no means of livelihood now. I had absolutely forgotten the fact.
‘She replied: “Why, Mr. Featherstone, I am getting an honest living.”
‘She said: “A year ago I would have married you. I liked you. But I cannot marry you now.”
‘She replied: “Things have happened in the meantime.”
‘I returned to London last night and bought a revolver. It is my intention to kill myself in Mr. Craig’s own room while he is out at lunch. This seems to me proper, but I may be mad. Who knows? My brain may be unhinged. As for my oath of secrecy, Raphael Craig cannot demand secrecy from a dead man. If this document leads to his punishment, let it. I care not. And Juana, as she says herself, is getting an honest living. She is independent of her terrible father.
‘It is half-past one o’clock in the morning.
In twelve hours I shall be in the beyond. I will place this statement in a vase on the mantelpiece. Let who will find it.
When Simon Lock had finished the perusal of this document he passed his hand before his eyes. The dead man’s handwriting, although perfectly clear, was so fine that even the delicate shades of Simon Lock’s electric chandelier had not been able to prevent the august financier from feeling the effects of the strain; but the condition of his eyes was a trifle. He experienced a solid and satisfying joy--such joy as he had not felt for a very long time.