he
course of the scar where his victim had wounded him on the cheek and
neck. Speechless, breathless, motionless alike in eye and limb, it
seemed as if, at the sight of Vendale, the death to which he had doomed
Vendale had struck him where he stood.

"Somebody ought to speak to him," said Maitre Voigt. "Shall I?"

Even at that moment Bintrey persisted in silencing the notary, and in
keeping the lead in the proceedings to himself. Checking Maitre Voigt by
a gesture, he dismissed Marguerite and Vendale in these words:--"The
object of your appearance here is answered," he said. "If you will
withdraw for the present, it may help Mr. Obenreizer to recover himself."

It did help him. As the two passed through the door and closed it behind
them, he drew a deep breath of relief. He looked round him for the chair
from which he had risen, and dropped into it.

"Give him time!" pleaded Maitre Voigt.

"No," said Bintrey. "I don't know what use he may make of it if I do."
He turned once more to Obenreizer, and went on. "I owe it to myself," he
said--"I don't admit, mind, that I owe it to you--to account for my
appearance in these proceedings, and to state what has been done under my
advice, and on my sole responsibility. Can you listen to me?"

"I can listen to you."

"Recall the time when you started for Switzerland with Mr. Vendale,"
Bintrey begin. "You had not left England four-and-twenty hours before
your niece committed an act of imprudence which not even your penetration
could foresee. She followed her promised husband on his journey, without
asking anybody's advice or permission, and without any better companion
to protect her than a Cellarman in Mr. Vendale's employment."

"Why did she follow me on the journey? and how came the Cellarman to be
the person who accompanied her?"

"She followed you on the journey," answered Bintrey, "because she
suspected there had been some serious collision between you and Mr.
Vendale, which had been kept secret from her; and because she rightly
believed you to be capable of serving your interests, or of satisfying
your enmity, at the price of a crime. As for the Cellarman, he was one,
among the other people in Mr. Vendale's establishment, to whom she had
applied (the moment your back was turned) to know if anything had
happened between their master and you. The Cellarman alone had something
to tell her. A senseless superstition, and a common accident which had
happened