Her outward purity and innocence were a rare equipment for the committal of a crime. Who, indeed, would have suspected her of guile and intrigue? When Love is dead there is no God. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ We were standing together in my sitting-room, Boyd being our only companion. A dozen times I had implored her to speak the truth, but without avail. She stood pale and trembling, yet still silent before us. Terror held her dumb. "Those who turn King's evidence obtain free pardon," the detective gravely observed, speaking for the first time. She laughed a little to herself. "You might have striven for ever in vain to solve the mystery," she answered at last, apparently bracing herself up for an effort. "Those who aimed that terrible blow, so swift and so fatal, were not the kind of persons to be ever caught napping. They never made a false move, and always took such elaborate precautions that to solve the enigma would be impossible to any one unacquainted with previous events." Her breast rose and fell quickly in her wild agitation. She was stirred by emotion to the depths of her being. "I was weak and helpless," she faltered. "God knows how I have suffered; how deep has been my repentance. Hear me to the end," she urged, turning her fine eyes to mine. "Then, when I have told you my wretched if astounding story, Frank, judge me as you think fit--for I am yours." "Speak!" I said anxiously. "My justice shall be tempered with mercy." By that sentence she had acknowledged her love for me, but now I hesitated. She was accused of murder.