Then I came upon the man
Gedge, who had spied on me."
"I know about that," said I, wishing to spare him from saying more
than was necessary. "He told Fenimore and me about it."
"What was his version?" he asked in a low tone. "I had better hear
it."
When I had told him, he shook his head. "He lied. He was saving
his skin. I was not such a fool, mad as I was, as to leave him
like that. He had seen us together. He had seen me alone. To-
morrow there would be discovery. I offered him a thousand pounds
to say nothing. He haggled. Oh! the ghastly business! Eventually I
suggested that he should come up to London with me by the first
train in the morning and discuss the money. I was dreading lest
someone should come along the avenue and see me. He agreed. I
think I drank a bottle of whisky that night. It kept me alive. We
met in my chambers in London. I had sent my man up the day before
to do some odds and ends for me. I made a clear breast of it to
Gedge. He believed the worst. I don't blame him. I bought his
silence for a thousand a year. I made arrangements for payment
through my bankers. I went to Norway. But I went alone. I didn't
fish. I put off the two men I was to join.
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