There was a moments silence.  Jack was the first to break it.

“And now will you give yourself up to the police, Una?” he asked me quietly.

The question brought me back to the present again with a bound.

“Oh! what ought I to do?” I cried, wringing my hands.  “I don’t quite know all yet.  Jack, why did you run away that last moment and leave me?”

Jack took my hand very seriously.

“Una, my child,” he said, fixing his eyes on mine, “I hardly know whether I can ever make you understand all that.  I must ask you at first at least just simply to believe me.  I must ask you to trust me and to accept my account.  When you rushed upon me as I stood there, all entangled in that hateful apparatus, and unable to move, I didn’t know where you had been; I didn’t know how you’d come there.  But I felt sure you must have heard at least your false father’s last words—­that he’d stifle me with the chloroform and burn my body up afterwards to ashes with his chemicals.  You seized the pistol before I could quite recover from the effects of the fumes.  He lay dead at my feet before I realised what was happening.

“Then, in a moment, as I looked at you, I took it all in, like a flash of lightning.  I saw how impossible it would be ever to convince anybody else of the truth of our story.  I saw if we both told the truth, no one would ever believe us.  There was no time then to reflect, no time to hesitate.  I had to make up my mind at once to a plan of action, and to carry it out without a second’s delay.  In one burst of inspiration, I saw that to stop would be to seal both our fates.  I didn’t mind so much for myself; that was nothing, nothing:  but for your sake I felt I must dare and risk everything.  Then I turned round and looked at you.  I saw at one glance the horror of the moment had rendered you speechless and almost senseless.  The right plan came to me at once as if by magic.  ‘Una,’ I cried, ‘stand back!  Wait till the servants come!’ For I knew the report of the revolver would soon bring them up to the library.  Then I waited myself.  As they reached the door, and forced it open, I jumped up to the window.  Just outside, my bicycle stood propped against the wall.  I let them purposely catch just a glimpse of my back—­an unfamiliar figure.  They saw the pistol on the floor,—­Mr. Callingham dead—­you, startled and horrified—­a man unknown, escaping in hot haste from the window.  I risked my own life, so as to save your name and honour.  I let them see me escape, so as to exonerate you from suspicion.  If they hanged me, what matter?  Then I leapt down in a hurry, jumped lightly on my machine, and rode off like the wind down the avenue to the high-road.  For a second or two they waited to look at you and your father.  That second or two saved us.  By the time they’d come out to look, I was away down the grounds, past the turn of the avenue, and well on for the high-road.  They’d seen a glimpse of the murderer, escaping by the window.  They would never suspect you.  You were saved, and I was happy.”