"'Do you think you can keep me here,' he shouted, 'when they are
plotting to hang me? I am going with you to that house!' he cried at
Lyle. 'When you find those bodies I shall be beside you. It is my
right. He is my brother. He has been murdered, and I can tell you who
murdered him. That woman murdered him. She first ruined his life, and
now she has killed him. For the last five years she has been plotting
to make herself his wife, and last night, when he told her he had
discovered the truth about the Russian, and that she would never see
him again, she flew into a passion and stabbed him, and then, in
terror of the gallows, killed herself. She murdered him, I tell you,
and I promise you that we will find the knife she used near
her--perhaps still in her hand. What will you say to that?'

"Lyle turned his head away and stared down at the floor. 'I might
say,' he answered, 'that you placed it there.'

"Arthur gave a cry of anger and sprang at him, and then pitched
forward into his arms. The blood was running from the cut under the
bandage, and he had fainted. Lyle carried him back to the bed again,
and we left him with the police and the doctors, and drove at once to
the address he had given us. We found the house not three minutes'
walk from St. George's Hospital. It stands in Trevor Terrace, that
little row of houses set back from Knightsbridge, with one end in Hill
Street.

"As we left the hospital Lyle had said to me, 'You must not blame me
for treating him as I did. All is fair in this work, and if by
angering that boy I could have made him commit himself I was right in
trying to do so; though, I assure you, no one would be better pleased