One dark night, at two o’clock in the morning, there came to the door of the Dun Cow an invalid carriage, or rather omnibus, with a spring-bed and every convenience.  The wheels were covered thick with India-rubber; relays had been provided, and Monckton and his party rolled along day and night to Liverpool.  The detectives followed, six hours later, and traced them to Liverpool very cleverly, and, with the assistance of the police, raked the town for them, and got all the great steamers watched, especially those that were bound westward, ho!  But their bird was at sea, in a Liverpool merchant’s own steamboat, hired for a two months’ trip.  The pursuers found this out too, but a fortnight too late.

“It’s no go, Bill,” said one to the other.  “There’s a lawyer and a pot of money against us.  Let it sleep awhile.”

The steamboat coasted England in beautiful weather; the sick man began to revive, and to eat a little, and to talk a little, and to suffer a good deal at times.  Before they had been long at sea Mr. Middleton had a confidential conversation with Mrs. Monckton.  He told her he had been very secret with her for her good.  “I saw,” said he, “this Monckton had no deep regard for you, and was capable of turning you adrift in prosperity; and I knew that if I told you everything you would let it out to him, and tempt him to play the villain.  But the time is come that I must speak, in justice to you both.  That estate he left your son half in joke is virtually his.  Fourteen years ago, when he last looked into the matter, there were eleven lives between it and him; but, strange to say, whilst he was at Portland the young lives went one after the other, and there were really only five left when he made that will.  Now comes the extraordinary part:  a fortnight ago three of those lives perished in a single steamboat accident on the Clyde; that left a woman of eighty-two and a man of ninety between your husband and the estate.  The lady was related to the persons who were drowned, and she has since died; she had been long ailing, and it is believed that the shock was too much for her.  The survivor is the actual proprietor, Old Carruthers; but I am the London agent to his solicitor, and he was reported to me to be in extremis the very day before I left London to join you.  We shall run into a port near the place, and you will not land; but I shall, and obtain precise information.  In the meantime, mind, your husband’s name is Carruthers.  Any communication from me will be to Mrs. Carruthers, and you will tell that man as much, or as little, as you think proper; if you make any disclosure, give yourself all the credit you can; say you shall take him to his own house under a new name, and shield him against all pursuers.  As for me, I tell you plainly, my great hope is that he will not live long enough to turn you adrift and disinherit your boy.”