"That being the property of Mrs. Dallas, she had lost it there," interrupted Jen, smartly. "No. I told you also that Isabella had confessed to having dropped it at the time of her midnight visit. But now I know that she told me a lie!" "Isabella! A lie! Impossible!" "Not at all," rejoined Jen, coldly. "I can understand her reason for telling the lie. She wanted to shield--" "Her mother!" cried David, quickly interrupting in his turn. "Your mind seems to run on the mother, David," said Jen, looking again at Sarby with keen inquisitiveness. "Can you prove by any chance that she committed the crime?" Sarby flushed and drew back with cold reserve. "No, Uncle Jen, I can't. I have my suspicions." "Against Mrs. Dallas?" "Well, yes; but I can prove nothing against her." "It pleases you to be mysterious, David. Shortly I shall insist upon an explanation." "Insist!" repeated the young man, annoyed by the peremptory tone of his guardian. "Yes. You owe it to me--your second father--to tell the truth. You owe it to your dead brother's memory--for assuredly Maurice was your brother." David stared sullenly at the ground, but in a moment or two he lifted his head in a defiant manner. "I owe you much more than I can ever repay," said he, in harsh tones. "All the same, Uncle Jen, I cannot reveal, even to you, what I know. If I did so, you would be the first to blame me." "I don't understand you." "I don't understand myself," said the young man, despondently, "save that I am the most miserable man alive." "You must be, if you know who killed Maurice, yet refuse to confess," retorted Jen, with some heat. "Will you tell me the truth? I ask you for the last time." "And I answer for the last time that the truth is not mine to tell," replied David, coldly. "If you doubt me question Etwald." "What! that criminal?" David looked up quickly. "How do you know he is a criminal?" "I can't give you my reasons. They would take too long to explain. But I believe that out of jealousy he killed Maurice." "Oh," said Sarby, ironically; "and out of jealousy he stole the body?" "No. Dido did that." "Dido?" An expression of surprise appeared on the pale face of the younger man. "Yes, Dido!" repeated Jen, firmly. "Jaggard has just informed me that it was Dido who drugged him. Why did she drug him? To steal the body of my poor lad. Why did she steal the body! To conceal the crime committed by Etwald." "I don't quite understand." "Listen, then, and I shall explain," resumed the major, with growing excitement. "I firmly believe that Etwald stole the devil-stick, and with it killed Maurice." "From a motive of jealousy?" "Precisely. As you know the body was stolen before the post-mortem examination could be made. Why was this? Does not your own reason find an answer to that question?" "No," replied David, still obstinately unconvinced.