“Faradeane!” exclaimed the squire. “What is this?” and he went toward him agitatedly. If Faradeane intended responding, the constable prevented him. Almost stepping in between him and the squire, he said, respectfully enough, but firmly: “Beg pardon, squire; but I caution Mr. Faradeane. I’ve done so already, as he’ll bear witness. I’ve told him that anything he says may be used against him.” There was a movement of suppressed excitement. Faradeane stood perfectly silent and calm. “You have cautioned Mr. Faradeane!” said Lord Carfield. “Do you mean to say----” He stopped, unable to form the question. The constable nodded grimly. “Yes, my lord. I’m very sorry to have to do it, but it’s my duty to charge Mr. Faradeane with willful murder.” The crowd of guests exchanged murmurs and glances of amazement, and in the midst of the excitement Olivia glided down the stairs and stood beside her father. She clung to his arm, but did not remove her eyes from the face of the accused. The last person who was expected to speak broke the silence. It was Mr. Bartley Bradstone. In moments of great peril, sometimes, your thorough-paced coward is stung into something that has, at any rate, the appearance of courage. With flushed face and a forced laugh, he stepped forward. “What nonsense is this?” he said, and he looked round with an air of impatience. “Mr. Faradeane charged with----It’s perfectly ridiculous!” and he laughed the forced laugh again. “Of course Mr. Faradeane can explain this--this absurd mistake. Better do it at once, and let the constable look for the right man, Faradeane.” Faradeane just glanced at him; it looked a mere casual glance, but Bartley Bradstone read it as one of warning, and changed color slightly. “Let--let us go into the library,” faltered Lord Carfield. But the poor squire shook his head. “There is no need for that,” he said, confidently. “As--as Mr. Bradstone says, Mr. Faradeane can explain this mistake at once, and in a few words,” and he looked at him with anxious appeal. The constable waited a second. Every one seemed to wait while the clock ticked a full minute; then, as Faradeane remained silent, the constable, after a glance round, said: “This is the case, squire; I was at the end of the lane when Browne ran up and told me to come with him into the wood--something had happened. I went, and I found the body of a young woman. She was quite dead--been shot. Close beside her stood Mr. Faradeane. I asked him what he knew about it, and he----” He paused a moment. “Well, squire, he refused to say anything!” “Well!” said the squire, sharply. “That is not sufficient reason for charging Mr. Faradeane with--with----” “No, squire,” assented the man, respectfully. “But while I was trying to persuade him to answer my questions and tell me what he knew, I saw something lying on the ground. It was this,” and he took the revolver from his pocket and handed it to the squire.