"I went upstairs and she followed, showing me where I was to go and then walking down the passage to another room. As I took off my wraps and hat I could hear her voice, loud and excited, telling someone of the two men we had seen. Another voice answered it—a man’s—but pitched too low for me to make out the words. "When I was ready I went downstairs and into the room. No one was about, there was not a sound. The fire was burning as it is now, the curtains drawn, and the table, set out with a supper, was brightly lit with candles and decorated with flowers. I stood here by the fire waiting, white, I suppose, as the tablecloth, for I was at the highest climax of excitement a human being can reach and keep her senses. "Suddenly I heard steps on the stairs. I turned and made ready, moistening my lips which were stiff and felt like leather. The steps came down the passage—the door opened. There he was! "That first second, when he entered as the lover and conqueror, he looked splendid. The worn and harassed air he had the last time I’d seen him was gone. He was at the highest pinnacle of his life, ’the very butt and sea mark of his sail,’ and it was as if his spirit recognized it and flashed up in a last illuminating glow of fire and force. "He was prepared for amazement, horror, probably fear from me. The first shock he received was my face, showing none of these, quiet, and, I suppose, fierce with the hatred I felt. He stopped dead in the doorway, the confidence stricken out of him—just staring. Then he stammered: "’Carol—you—you—’ "He was too astounded to say any more. I finished for him, my voice low and hoarse: "’You think I didn’t expect to see you. I did. I knew you were here—I came to find you. I came to tell you that I know how you killed Johnston Barker.’ "I don’t think anyone has ever said he lacked courage. He was one of those bold and ruthless beings that came to their fullest flower during the Italian Renaissance—terrible and tremendous too. I’ve thought of him since as like one of the Borgias or Iago transplanted to our country and modern times. When he saw that I knew he went white, but he stood with the light of the candles bright on his ghastly face, straight and steady as a soldier before the cannon. "’Johnston Barker,’ he said very quietly—’killed him? You bring me interesting news. I didn’t know he was dead!’ "As I’ve told you I had come without plans, with no line of action decided upon. Now the futility, the blind rashness of what I had done was borne in upon me. His stoney calm, his measured voice, showed me I was pitted against an antagonist whose strength was to mine as a lion’s to a mouse. The thought maddened me, I was ready to say anything to break him, to conquer and crush him and in my desperation—guided by some flash of intuition—I said the right thing: