planation, and the
subsequent drinking, but he could recall nothing further. He was sure
the wine had been drugged, but he realized that Swinton, the landlord,
would have made away with any signs of foul play, as he was himself an
agent of active disloyalty and a friend of Erris Boyne. Dyck could not
believe he had killed Boyne; yet Boyne had been found with a wound in
his heart, and his own naked sword lying beside him on the table. The
trouble was he could not absolutely swear innocence of the crime.

The situation was not eased by his stay in jail. It began with a
revelation terribly repugnant to him. He had not long been lodged in the
cell when there came a visit from Michael Clones, who stretched out his
hands in an agony of humiliation.

"Ah, you didn't do it--you didn't do it, sir!" he cried. "I'm sure you
never killed him. It wasn't your way. He was for doing you harm if he
could. An evil man he was, as all the world knows. But there's one thing
that'll be worse than anything else to you. You never knew it, and I
never knew it till an hour ago. Did you know who Erris Boyne was? Well,
I'll tell you. He was the father of Miss Sheila Llyn. He was divorced by
Mrs. Llyn many years ago, for having to do with other women. She took to
her maiden name, and he married again.

"Good God! Good God!" Dyck Calhoun made a gesture of horror. "He Sheila
Llyn's father! Good God!"

Suddenly a passion of remorse roused him out of his semi-stupefaction.

"Michael, Michael!" he said, his voice hoarse, broken. "Don't say such a
thing! Are you sure?" Michael nodded.

"I'm sure. I got it from one that's known Erris Boyne and his first wife
and girl--one that was a servant to them both in past days. He's been
down to Limerick to see Mrs. Llyn and the beautiful daughter. I met him
an hour ago, and he told me. He told me more. He told me Mrs. Llyn spoke
to him of your friendship with Erris Boyne, and how she meant to tell
you who and what he was. She said her daughter didn't even know her
father's name. She had been kept in ignorance."

Dyck seated himself on the rough bed of the cell, and stared at Michael,
his hands between his knees, his eyes perturbed.

"Michael," he said at last, "if it's true--what you've told me--I don't
see my way. Every step in front of me is black. To tell the whole truth
is to bring fresh shame upon Mrs. Llyn and her daughter, and not to tell
the whole truth is to take away my one chance of getting out o