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86 boots, in a pathetic kind of bashfulness. "I'd never 'a' told this to a soul, but I see you was all square—an' meant right by 'er—an' how it was between ye. Well, she's never come to harm, an' 't was me that had the hand in that." He ground both fists between his knees, with the effort of expressing these long-stifled thoughts. Then he looked up once, in the pale light of sunrise. "I 'll ask ye to take that back what ye said about lyin'."

"I beg your pardon," said Archer, deeply humbled. "I took it wrong. I did n't understand all this. I beg your pardon."

"That's all right, then," he answered simply. "Now to come to the point. The' 's no time to lose. Beaky Lehane's paid for it. He's gone."

Sunlight, ledge, black firs, and circle of air, looked pale and sickly round Archer. He thought he could not have understood.

"You don't mean"—he began weakly, trying to stave off what he knew would be the truth.

"Yes," said Peter. "They found him 'bout four this mornin', on the beach."