“I discovered the original memorandum of the mechanism of your husband’s safe, locked up in one of your boxes, securely as you thought; I have it in my pocket at the present moment. At last we have put our hands upon the actual criminal who purloined the million francs, the loose diamonds, committed the second small robbery, made some inconsiderable restitution in the third—the criminal who left an innocent man, Richard Croxton, to suffer for her crime, reckoning on the fact that the evidence was so strong against him that one would not be tempted to look elsewhere.” He paused, expecting that she would show some sort of fight, say something, however feeble and unconvincing, in denial. Had he been dealing with a woman of the calibre of Alma Buckley, she would have lied and turned and twisted and fought him as long as she could. But Mrs. Morrice was made of weaker stuff. Rosabelle had been right when she said she had never regarded her aunt as resolute and strong-minded. She was trembling all over. “What does Mr. Morrice intend to do?” she asked in a faint voice, and admitting her guilt by putting the question. “This is his last word. Write him a full confession giving him ample details of the burglaries, and equally important, the actual truth about young Brookes, in what way he is connected with you. If this is done, secrecy will be preserved.” “And if I refuse?” she asked in the same faint voice. But Lane was sure she would not refuse in the end. “In that case, he will publish the facts to the world, and he will not give you one penny towards your support.” Of course, Lane had not received any such instructions from Morrice, he was acting entirely on his own initiative, judging that he knew better than the financier how to wring the truth out of obstinate malefactors. She rose. “Excuse me for a few moments while I speak to my friend. Mr. Morrice has you for an adviser, I have only her to consult.” She was so broken down and unnerved that she almost tottered through the door which Lane held open for her. While she was absent he kept a sharp look-out on the hall from force of habit. But he was quite sure she would not attempt to run away. What was the use of flight? It would only supply additional evidence, if further were needed, of her guilt. At the end of half an hour she returned, a little more composed than when she went away, the two old friends had had a long talk together. “Sit down, Mr. Lane. I will sign any confession you like to draw up, on the understanding that it is shown only to the persons actually interested. I will answer truthfully any question you like to put to me, and give you all the details of my life since I left the village of Brinkstone.” CHAPTER XXV MRS. MORRICE’S CONFESSION