"I am not innocent," said Mrs. Hillmer, her words falling with painful distinctness upon the ears of the three men. "Heaven help me! I am responsible for it!" Her brother started to his feet, and caught her by the shoulder. "What folly is this," he cried. "Do you know what you are saying?" "Fully. My words are like sledge-hammers. I will forever feel their weight. I tell you I am responsible for the death of Lady Dyke." "Then how did she die, Mrs. Hillmer?" said Bruce, whose glance sought to read her soul. "I do not know. I do not want to know. It matters little to me." "In other words, you are assuming a responsibility you should not bear. You were not even aware of this poor lady's death until I told you. Why should you seek to avert suspicion from others merely because Lady Dyke is shown to have met her death in your apartments?" "But how is it shown?" interrupted Mensmore vehemently. He was more disturbed by his sister's unaccountable attitude than he had ever been by the serious charge against himself. "Easily enough," said White, feeling that he ought to have some share in the conversation. "A piece of the damaged fender placed in your rooms, Mr. Mensmore, was found in the murdered lady's head." "Was it?" he cried. "Then, by Heaven, I refuse to see my sister sacrificed for anybody's sake. She has borne too long the whole burden of misery and degradation. I tell you, Gwen, that if you do not save yourself I will save you against your will. That furniture came to my room because--" "Bertie, I beseech you, for the sake of the woman you love, to spare me." Mrs. Hillmer flung herself on her knees before him and caught hold of his hands, while she burst into a storm of tears. Mensmore was unnerved. He turned to Bruce, and said: "Help me in this miserable business, old chap. I don't know what to say or do; my sister had no more connection with Lady Dyke's death than I had. This statement on her part is mere hysteria, arising from other circumstances altogether." "That I feel acutely," said the barrister. "Yet some one killed her, and, whatever the pain that may be caused, and whoever may suffer, I am determined that the truth shall come out." "I tell you," wailed Mrs. Hillmer between her sobs, "that I must bear all the blame. Why do you hesitate? She was killed in my house, and I confess my guilt." "This _is_ rum business," growled Mr. White aloud, half unconsciously. At that moment the door opened unexpectedly, and Smith entered. Before Bruce had time to vociferate an order to his astounded servitor the man stuttered an excuse: "Beg pardon, sir," he said, "but Sir Charles Dyke has called, and wants to know if you will be disengaged soon." CHAPTER XXIII THE LETTER Quick on the heels of the footman's stammered explanation came the voice of Sir Charles himself: "Sorry to disturb you, Bruce, if you are busy, but I must see you for a moment on a matter of the utmost importance."