was bemused. He remembered the quarrel, Boyne's explanation, and the
subsequent drinking, but he could recall nothing further. He was sure
the wine had been drugged, but he realized that Swinton, the landlord,
would have made away with any signs of foul play, as he was himself an
agent of active disloyalty and a friend of Erris Boyne. Dyck could not
believe he had killed Boyne; yet Boyne had been found with a wound in his
heart, and his own naked sword lying beside him on the table. The
trouble was he could not absolutely swear innocence of the crime.

The situation was not eased by his stay in jail. It began with a
revelation terribly repugnant to him. He had not long been lodged in the
cell when there came a visit from Michael Clones, who stretched out his
hands in an agony of humiliation.

"Ah, you didn't do it--you didn't do it, sir!" he cried. "I'm sure you
never killed him. It wasn't your way. He was for doing you harm if he
could. An evil man he was, as all the world knows. But there's one
thing that'll be worse than anything else to you. You never knew it, and
I never knew it till an hour ago. Did you know who Erris Boyne was?
Well, I'll tell you. He was the father of Miss Sheila Llyn. He was
divorced by Mrs. Llyn many years ago, for having to do with other women.
She took to her maiden name, and he married again.

"Good God! Good God!" Dyck Calhoun made a gesture of horror. "He
Sheila Llyn's father! Good God!"

Suddenly a passion of remorse roused him out of his semi-stupefaction.

"Michael, Michael!" he said, his voice hoarse, broken. "Don't say such
a thing! Are you sure?" Michael nodded.