“Then I heard the death-rattle.” Victor Lunt shuddered, and again he could not command his speech. “I lost my head, doctor. I ran away. I chucked the pistol away. I don’t know what I did. Doctor, I swear it’s God’s truth.” He started up. “What do you mean to do now?” For Reggie sat silent looking at him. “If it’s the truth, Mr. Lunt, I advise you to tell it.” “It is the truth. Don’t you know it’s the truth? O God!” “I am not God, Mr. Lunt.” Victor Lunt screamed. Two men had come into the room. “Mr. Victor Lunt? I am Superintendent Bell. I hold a warrant----” Victor Lunt fell upon the hearth. They rushed at him, dragged him out of the fire. . . . “Apoplexy,” Reggie said. “I thought it was coming.” The detective’s eyebrows asked him a question. Reggie shook his head. “This warrant won’t run,” said Superintendent Bell. “What was he doing here, sir?” “Asking for mercy,” Reggie said. “He’s taking the case to a higher court. I wonder. I wonder.” And that night Victor Lunt died. . . . A few days afterwards Reggie gave a little dinner to Cranford and Nurse Dauntsey, and Nurse Dauntsey in a shy evening-frock was adorably happy. And in due time, “Have another peach,” Reggie said. “Do you want to see me blush, Mr. Fortune?” But she took another. “You can do pleasant things with the stones--he loves me, he loves me not.” “It’s not interesting any more,” said Nurse Dauntsey, and looked demure. “I’m off to British Columbia next week,” Cranford announced. “Alone?” said Reggie, with his eye on Nurse Dauntsey. “This year, next year,” Nurse Dauntsey counted. “May I have five peaches, Mr. Fortune?” “I’m sure you know what’s good for you. So you’re dropping the Mozambique copper claim, Cranford?” “Lady Lunt offered to turn it over to me. I couldn’t touch it.” “Of course not,” said Nurse Dauntsey. “Good thing for me Victor Lunt didn’t stand his trial,” Cranford said. “Yes. It would have kept you in England.” Reggie lit a cigar. “I should have had to tell the whole story.” Reggie stared at him. “Yes. That’s the proposition, sir. It was the case you put up against him got me off.” “I put up nothing,” Reggie cried. “Everything I had against Victor was true, and he knew it was true. That’s what broke him. He had a queer story of his own though,” and Reggie told them Victor Lunt’s version of the crime. “I’ve wondered how much of that was true. He wanted me to believe Albert committed suicide, you see. And that’s impossible.” “Maybe it was all true,” Cranford said. “Poor beggar. He went through it.” “I didn’t feel merciful,” Reggie said. “Whatever was the way of it, he meant to get his brother murdered. He worked you up and sent you off to do it. He meant the murder. No, I didn’t feel merciful. And yet--I wonder.”