plained
by this letter."

"To me?" said Gascoigne, stretching out his hand for it.

"To you, but impounded by us. It was found, in our search of your
apartments yesterday, placed in a prominent place upon your
dressing-table."

"Give it me--it is mine!"

"No! but you shall hear what it says. Listen:--

"'I could have borne with resignation the miserable part you have
imposed upon me. After luring me from my home with dazzling offers,
after promising me a life of luxury and splendid ease, you rudely,
cruelly dispelled the illusion, and made it plain to me that I had
shared the lot of a pauper. All this I could have borne--poverty,
however distasteful, but not the infamy, the degradation, of being the
partner and associate of your evil deeds. Sooner than fall so low I
prefer to leave you for ever. Do not seek for me. I have done with
you. All is at an end between us!'"

CHAPTER III.

THE MOUSETRAP.

"Well," said the judge, when he had finished reading, "you see what
your wife thinks of you. What do you say now?"

"There is not a word of truth in that letter. It is a tissue of
misstatements from beginning to end. You must place no reliance upon
it."

"There you must allow me to differ from you. This letter is, in my
belief, perfectly genuine. It supplies a most important link in the
chain of evidence, and I shall give it the weight it deserves. But
enough--will you still deny your guilt?"

"It is Ledantec's doing," said Gascoigne, following out a line of
thought of his own. "She was nothing loth, perhaps, for he has been
instilling insidious poison into her ears for these weeks past. I had
my suspicions, but could prove nothing; now I know. It was for this,
to put money in his purse for her extravagance, that he first robbed,
then struck down the baron."

"Why do you still persist in this shallow line of defence? You cannot
deceive me; it would be far better to make a clean breast of it at
once."

"I have already told you all I know. I repeat, I saw Ledantec strike
the blow."

"Psha! this is puerile. I will be frank with you. We have the fullest
and strongest evidence of your guilt--why, then, will you not confess
it?"

"I have nothing to confess; I am perfectly innocent. I was the poor
man's friend, not his murderer. I tried hard to save him, but,
unhappily, I was too late."

"You will not confess?"

A flush of anger rose to Gascoigne's cheek; his eyes flashed with the
indignation he fel