“Lady Heyburn was the first to speak.  ‘Gabrielle,’ she said, ’what have you done?  You have carried out the secret revenge which in your letter you threatened!’ I saw myself trapped.  Those people had some motive in killing the girl and placing this crime upon myself!  I could not speak, for I was too utterly dumfounded.”

“The fiends!” ejaculated Walter fiercely.

“Then followed a hurried consultation, in which Krail showed himself most solicitous on my behalf,” the pale-faced girl went on.  “Aided by Flockart, I think, he scraped away a hole in a pit full of dead leaves, and there the body must have been concealed just as it was.  To me they all took a solemn vow to keep what they declared to be my secret.  The bottle containing the wine from which the poor American girl had drunk was broken and hidden, the plates and food swiftly packed up, and we at once fled from the scene of the tragedy.  With Krail wheeling the girl’s empty cycle, we reached the high road, where we all mounted and rode back in silence to Paris.  Ah, shall I ever rid myself of the memory of that fatal afternoon?” she cried as she paused for breath.

“Fearing that he might be noticed taking along the empty cycle, Krail threw it into the river near Valmondois,” she went on.  “Arrived back at the Rue Leonce-Reynaud, I protested that nothing had been introduced into the wine.  But they declared that, owing to my youth and the terrible scandal it would cause if I were arrested, they would never allow the matter to pass their lips, Mr. Hamilton, indeed, making the extraordinary declaration that such a crime had extenuating circumstances when love was at stake.  I then saw that I had fallen the victim of some clever conspiracy; but so utterly overcome was I by the awful scene that I could make but faint protest.

“Ah! think of my horrible position—­accused of a crime of which I was entirely innocent!  The days slipped on, and I was sent back to Amiens, and in due course came home here to dear old Glencardine.  From that day I have lived in constant fear, until on the night of the ball at Connachan—­you remember the evening, dad?—­on that night Mr. Flockart returned in secret, beckoned me out upon the lawn, and showed me something which held me petrified in fear.  It was a cutting from an Edinburgh paper that evening reporting that two of the forest-guards at Pontarme had discovered the body of the missing Miss Bryant, and that the French police were making active inquiries.”

“He threatened you?” asked Walter.

“He told me to remain quiet, and that he and Lady Heyburn would do their best to shield me.  For that reason, dad,” she went on, turning to the blind man, “for that reason I feared to denounce him when I discovered him with your safe open, for that reason I was compelled to take all the blame and all your anger upon myself.”

The old man’s brow knit.  “Where is my wife?” he asked.  “I must speak to her before we go further.  This is a very serious matter.”