ellish plot. It was the hand of the dying woman, spasmodically
clutching at the empty air in her death agonies, which accidentally came
in contact with Hazel Rath's throat, and loosened her brooch."

"Oh, this is too terrible," murmured Musard. His swarthy face showed an
ashen tint. "What do you mean? What are you keeping back? Where does all
this lead to?"

"It leads to the exposure of the trick--the trick of a false report by
which the murderer sought to procure an alibi and revenge."

"What do you mean? What have you found out?" cried Phil, leaping to his
feet and facing Colwyn.

As he uttered the words, a loud shot in the room overhead rang out with
startling distinctness.

"I mean--that," said Colwyn quietly.

Even up to the moment of his experiment he was not quite certain. But in
the one swift glance they exchanged, everything was revealed to each of
them.

Before Musard could frame the question which trembled on his amazed
lips, Phil spoke. His face was very white, and his dark eyes blazing:

"Yes. That is it. You have found me out." His voice, deepened to a
bitter intensity, had a deliberate intonation which was almost solemn.
"What did they do to me? Shall I ever forget my feelings when,
unobserved by them, I caught them in the house one day, whispering and
kissing? I walked straight out into the woods to be alone with my shame.
My brain was on fire. When I recalled his lecherous looks and her wanton
meaning glances I was tempted to destroy myself in misery and despair.
Human nature--ah, God, what a beastly thing it is. I had trusted them
both so utterly--I loved her so deeply. How had they repaid my trust and
love? By deceiving me, under my eyes, in my own home, before my marriage
was three months old.

"That night I dreamt of obscene things. I awoke with their images
hovering by my bedside, looking at me with sneering eyes, mocking me
with lewd gestures. 'Your honour and the honour of the Herediths--Where
is it?' they kept repeating: 'Sold by the wanton you have made your
wife. What is honour to the lust of the flesh? There is nothing so
strong in the world.' But as I watched them the ceiling rolled away, and
in the darkness of the sky a stern and implacable face appeared. And it
said, 'There is one thing stronger than honour, stronger even that the
lust of the flesh, and that is--Death.'

"It was the answer to a question I had been asking myself ever since I
knew. I got up, and sat by the open w