I had gripped him round the neck with my fingers, driving them deep
down into his lean, sinewy throat. With frantic speed I pulled him along
the passage up to a window, through which the moonlight was shining.
Here I released my hold of his throat, but immediately covered him with
my revolver.

"Down on your knees, or you are a dead man!" I cried. "Confess
everything, or I shoot you through the heart."

His courage had evidently forsaken him; he began to whimper and cry
bitterly.

"Spare my life," he screamed. "I will tell everything, only spare my
life."

"Be quick about it," I said; "I am in no humour to be merciful. Out with
the truth."

I was listening anxiously for the wife's step, but except for the low
hum of machinery and the splashing of the water I heard nothing.

"Speak," I said, giving the old man a shake. His lips trembled, his
words came out falteringly.

"It was Wentworth's doing," he panted.

"Wentworth? Not the murdered man?" I cried.

"No, no, his cousin. The ruffian who has been the curse of my life.
Owing to that last death he inherits the property. He is the real owner
of the mill, and he invented the revolving floor. There were deaths--oh
yes, oh yes. It was so easy, and I wanted the money. The police never
suspected, nor did the doctors. Wentworth was bitter hard on me, and I
got into his power." Here he choked and sobbed. "I am a miserable old
man, sir," he gasped.

"So you killed your victims for the sake of money?" I said, grasping him
by the shoulder.

"Yes," he said, "yes. The bailiff had twenty pounds all in gold; no one
ever knew. I took it and was able to satisfy Wentworth for a bit."

"And what about Archibald Wentworth?"

"That was _his_ doing, and I was to be paid."

"And now finally you wanted to get rid of me?"

"Yes; for you suspected."

As I spoke I perceived by the ghastly light of the moon another door
near. I opened it and saw that it was the entrance to a small dark
lumber room. I pushed the old man in, turned the key in the lock, and
ran downstairs. The wife was still unaccountably absent. I opened the
front door, and trembling, exhausted, drenched in perspiration, found
myself in the open air. Every nerve was shaken. At that terrible moment
I was not in the least master of myself. My one desire was to fly from
the hideous place. I had just reached the little gate when a hand, light
as a feather, touched my arm. I looked up; the girl Liz stood before me.