“What’s this about a confession?” asked Rice. “Do you mean to tell me that you murdered Mrs. Breese?” “Yes,” replied the Count. “I did.” “But in the name of Heaven, why?” demanded Rice. “I’d like to know. I’d like to know why anyone would kill Dora Breese--one of the finest women that ever lived. I’d like to know how an apparently decent young chap like you could do a fiendish thing like that.” “Is it so unlikely?” demanded the Count. “Didn’t you believe I was guilty of murder in Riga?” “I did not!” snapped Rice. “I told Dora she had you all wrong. But, of course, she was right. You couldn’t fool her.” He stopped, overwhelmed. “God, I can’t believe it!” he muttered. “It doesn’t seem real.” “If you don’t mind,” said the Count wearily, “I’d rather not discuss it.” But here Perutkin intervened. “Do you know, Mr. Rice, I agree with you. It doesn’t seem real. I don’t think my friend’s confession is worth this----” he snapped his fingers. “He’s being a fool, that’s all.” “But why?” demanded Rice. “Why does he confess? That’s what gets me!” “I shall tell you,” said Perutkin. “He thinks he is being chivalrous. He thinks he is doing something noble. He does not realize he is merely obstructing justice.” He swung suddenly on the Countess who was looking at him intently. “You, Madame, you do not believe him? You were his wife. You know him.” “I don’t know what to believe,” the girl said desperately. “And you, young man----” He turned to the younger Breese--“what do you think?” The boy squirmed in the chair, but said nothing. “And you?” He advanced slowly upon the elder Breese. “Have you any opinions on the matter, sir?” “I don’t know anything about it!” snapped Breese. “Let me alone.” But his son sprang up. “What’s the use of this? Of course he didn’t do it. You know who did it, and I do, too. It’s that cad over there--yes, you----” he blazed at Thomas. “You can’t fool me!” “Hang it all, stop it!” shrieked the actor. “This is getting on my nerves. I can’t stand it any more. I really can’t.” “You must have proof for such grave charges,” Perutkin intervened solemnly. “What proof have you?” “I don’t need any proof,” shouted the boy. “Look at him. Isn’t that enough? If it weren’t for him, Mother would be alive today. He ruined her life. He killed her. And he’s not going to get away with it either!” Rice reached for the boy to calm him. Young Breese, on the verge of tears, tried to draw away. “Go ahead! Say anything you want!” challenged the actor. “I was your mother’s friend. Why don’t you look at her will? She says there what she thinks of me! I did everything in the world for her. And all the thanks I get is--this!” He swallowed piteously. “Hang it all, it isn’t fair!” “What in life is fair?” reflected the Russian gravely. “We are none of us appreciated, Mr. Thomas. But you believe that the Count is guilty?”