The motive for Louis' attack upon my life. Let me first fix that definitely. I could think of no other than that of obtaining possession of the few thousands of pounds which, through Barbara's death, reverted back to me. My own death proved--whether by natural means or murder mattered not--and leaving (as was rightly presumed) no will, my property would fall to my half-brother Louis and his mother, as next-of-kin. Undoubtedly this was the motive; but in what way information had been obtained of my arrival from Australia, and by whom I had been tracked from the Liverpool dock to the deserted street, it was not in my power to fathom. Did Louis have an accomplice? If so, who more likely than Maxwell? The conjecture was natural, but I soon dismissed it. Two men would have made short work of me. Revenge and greed would have chained Maxwell to Louis' side, and I should not now be alive and comparatively uninjured. There had been blood on my face and hands, but it had not come from me--a proof that I had not, as I supposed, been attacked with a knife. The only weapon used in the struggle was used by me, and it had only to be established as belonging to me to serve as fatal evidence against me. And yet it was strange that in an attack deliberately premeditated and thought out, my assailant should have had no weapon at his command. There was, however, no certainty of this. Knowing; that I was a powerful man he would hardly have trusted to his own physical strength to overcome me. The reasonable presumption was that he had a weapon, which he had either been unable to draw or had dropped in the scuffle. I adopted these conclusions as facts beyond dispute. He had no accomplices, he had a weapon. The former fact added to my chances of safety, for having confided his savage purpose to no one, the secret was confined to his own breast. And he died without revealing it. For the deed itself I did not, I could not, hold myself any more responsible than if I had been attacked by a wild beast. Discovered, I must bear the consequences, but I was justified in keeping it secret, and in leaving to others the task of detection. And, indeed, it was now too late for me to take the initiative. My flight and the property in my possession were sufficient proofs of guilt. Innocent (it would be argued), what had I to fear? Justice never errs--never! What mockery! Being guilty, I had done what all guilty men do. What could be clearer?