The speaker came over to where Dick sat, silent, stunned.

“Enough of that.  I have no wish to appeal to you in any way.  The next move is yours.  You can act as you please.  You can brand me as a criminal if you choose.  It is what I am, guilty in the eyes of the law as well as in my own eyes and yours.  I am not pleading innocence.  I am pleading unqualified guilt.  Understand that clearly.  I knew what I was doing when I did it.  I have known ever since.  I’ve never been blind to the rottenness of the thing.  At first I did it for the money because I was afraid of poverty and honest work.  And then I went on with it for Tony, because I loved her and wouldn’t give her up to you.  Now I’ve given up the last ditch.  The name is yours and the money is yours and if you can win Tony she is yours.  I’m out of the face for good and all.  But we have to settle just how the thing is going to be done.  And that is for you to say.”

“I wish I needn’t do anything about it,” said Dick slowly after a moment.  “I don’t want the money.  I am almost afraid of it.  It seems accursed somehow considering what it did to you.  Even the name I don’t seem to care so much about just now thought I have wanted a name as I have never wanted anything else in the world except Tony.  It was mostly for her I wanted it.  See here, Alan, why can’t we make a compromise?  You say Roberts wrote two letters and you have both.  Why can’t we destroy the one and send the other to the lawyers, the one that lets you out?  It is nobody’s business but ours.  We can say that the letter has just fallen into your hands with the other proof that I am the John Massey that was stolen.  That would straighten the thing out for you.  I’ve no desire to brand you in any way.  Why should I after all I owe you?  You have made up a million times by saving my life and by the way you have given the thing over now.  Anyway one doesn’t exact payment from one’s friends.  And you are my friend, Alan.  You offered me friendship.  I took it—­was proud to take it.  I am proud now, prouder than ever.”

And rising Dick Carson who was no longer Dick Carson but John Massey held out his hand to the man who had wronged him so bitterly.  The paraquet in the corner jibbered harshly.  Thunder rumbled heavily outside.  An eerily vivid flash of lightning dispelled for a moment the gloom of the dusk as the two men clasped hands.

“John Massey!” Alan’s voice with its deep cello quality was vibrant with emotion.  “You don’t know what that means to me.  Men have called me many things but few have ever called me friend except in lip service for what they thought they could get out of it.  And from you—­well, I can only say, I thank you.”

“We are the only Masseys.  We ought to stand together,” said Dick simply.

Alan smiled though the room was too dark for Dick to see.