nd he
went out with the face of a stricken man.

CHAPTER XXVI

PROVIDING FOR THE WORST

Though Inspector Fay had disclosed no more than was necessary for the
purpose of the initial charge, the arrest of James Layton was popularly
considered to have solved the mystery of the murder of Christine
Manderson.

No one realized more fully than Layton himself the overwhelming strength
of the case against him. He was as good as condemned already. Beyond his
own assertion of innocence, he was utterly defenseless against a
sequence of evidence that might well have shattered the strongest reply.
And he was without any reply at all, except his own denial. He could
only admit the truth of the damning train of circumstances, in face of
which his mere word was hopelessly--and, he was compelled to
acknowledge, justly--inadequate. The secret of his identity--most
crushing fact of all--was lost. He was the Michael Cranbourne whom
Christine Manderson, then Thea Colville, had drawn on to ruin and
disgrace. He had threatened her, in the presence of witness, with just
such an end as she had met with. He had been seen lurking in the garden
at the time of the crime. He had been beside himself. And to all that he
had no more convincing answer than the plea of not guilty. He placed
himself, quite dispassionately, in the position of his own judge and
jury. There could be only one result.

The strange message of hope, brought to him by Jenny West, from a
mysterious foreigner who had declared knowledge of his innocence and of
half the truth, aroused his curiosity, if no more. That one person, at
all events, had discovered, and was apparently pursuing, an alternative
to his own guilt was interesting, if a slender encouragement to build
on. He was not disposed to cling to flimsy hopes. He accepted his
position with perfect calmness. Since the confession of his identity to
Inspector Fay a load seemed to have been lifted from his mind, and with
it had passed the revival of mad passion which the sight of Christine
Manderson's fatal beauty had aroused. He found himself able to dwell on
her memory--even to contemplate her death--with a cold detachment which
surprised himself. He no longer shrank from conjuring up her image--but
now it was a dead image from a dead world. And--not without surprise
also, and perhaps a certain satisfaction--he found himself looking
forward to a visit from Jenny West.

She came to him at the appointed time. She