“What ridiculous nonsense you are talking!” cried the accused, who was dressed with his habitual shabby gentility.  “The girl yonder, mademoiselle, killed Miss Bryant.”

“Then why did you make that deliberate attempt upon my life at Fotheringhay?” demanded the girl boldly.  “Had it not been for Mr. Hamilton, who must have seen us together and guessed that you intended foul play, I should certainly have been drowned.”

“He believed that you knew his secret, and he intended, both on his own behalf and on Flockart’s also, to close your lips,” Murie said.  “With you out of the way, their attitude towards your father would have been easier; but with you still a living witness there was always danger to them.  He thought your death would be believed to be suicide, for he knew your despondent state of mind.”

Sir Henry stood near the window, his face sphinx-like, as though turned to stone.

“She fell in,” was his lame excuse.

“No, you threw me in!” declared the girl.  “But I have feared you until now, and I therefore dared not to give information against you.  Ah, God alone knows how I have suffered!”

“You dare now, eh?” he snarled, turning quickly upon her.

“It really does not matter what you deny or what you admit,” Hamilton remarked.  “The French authorities have applied for your extradition to France, and this evening you will be on your way to the extradition court at Bow Street, charged with a graver offence than the burglary at this house.  The Surete of Paris make several interesting allegations against you—­or against Felix Gerlach, which is your real name.”

“Gerlach!” cried the blind man in a loud voice, groping forward.  “Ah,” he shrieked, “then I was not mistaken when—­when I thought I recognised the voice!  That man’s voice! Yes, it is his—­his!”

In an instant Krail had sprung forward towards the blind and defenceless man, but his captors were fortunately too quick and prevented him.  Then, at the inspector’s orders, a pair of steel bracelets were quickly placed upon his wrists.

“Gerlach!  Felix Gerlach!” repeated the blind Baronet as though to himself, as he heard the snap of the lock upon the prisoner’s wrists.

The fellow burst out into a peal of harsh, discordant laughter.  He was endeavouring to retain a defiant attitude even then.

“You apparently know this man, dad?” Gabrielle exclaimed in surprise.

“Know him!” echoed her father hoarsely.  “Know Felix Gerlach!  Yes, I have bitter cause to remember the man who stands there before you accused of the crime of murder.”

Then he paused, and drew a long breath.