His mind, almost unhinged by the terrible shock, chased possibility through a thousand impossibilities, the least grotesque of these being a grave of his own digging amongst the hyacinths; his subsequent flight being easy, since he had made all arrangements for a sudden disappearance. Was that a noise below--a faint creak on the stairs? The possibility troubled him. He crossed to the door, and opened it to find himself confronted by Ted Cruttenden, his face distorted by passion. "You scoundrel!" he cried. "You--you infernal scoundrel--where is Aura--my wife?" His very vehemence, his very lack of self restraint, brought back Ned Blackborough's wandering wits. He closed the door behind him, and stood with his back to it. "She is--not there," he said slowly. "Ted! listen for one moment. I brought her here----" "Do you think I don't know that, you damned villain," burst out Ted--"when I came home this morning and found you had taken her--there was some cock-and-bull story the servants had about not sitting up for her, and a latch-key and all that rot--do you think I was fool enough not to understand--I've never really trusted you. And now--and now--let me pass in, I say, or there'll be murder done." "Listen one moment----" the voice was inexorable. "You never trusted me. I know that. Have you not trusted her? Are you fool enough to have lived day and night with her, to have lain with your head upon her breast--and not known--No! it is impossible. You know what she is--you must--you do know it----" Even to Ted Cruttenden's mad jealousy, memory could bring no fuel to feed the flame; his very anger sank for the moment to self-pity. "I come home," he muttered, "I find her gone. I follow. I have walked over the hill to----" "To--spy upon us----" interrupted Ned sternly, "go on." "To spy upon you if you will," cried Ted, his passion rising again--"and I find you here, in her room----" Ned opened the door behind him quietly. "Because she is dead," he said, and leaning against the lintel, his head upon his arm, waited. "Dead!" The whisper reached him from within full almost of fear; and there was a long empty silence. "You will not say I killed her, I suppose," said Ned bitterly at last. "It was an accident. We were going back--back to you----" The very wonder of that fact stayed speech; but he knew he must go on. "I am quite ready to let you shoot me, by and by, but at present--I--I want you to think of her--of yourself. I don't count. I need count any more. But we must be quick about it. As I stand before--before Something that is mightier than I, I swear to you that I have done you no harm. We won't go into the other question as to what harm you have done me. And for her--you know. But--but even if we had, what use is there now, in making a fuss in letting the world know that you have found her there--with me. Not a soul knows I am here. You can take my place, as you have taken it before. I can go, as I have gone before."