"I believed the murderer to be my lover, Clifton Cleeve," she answered. "But here, in this place, I overheard a confession, and discovered that the man who committed the cowardly crime in order to conceal the existence of this cult of Evil is the same who, having ascertained that I was witness of his crime and might denounce him, afterwards sought to silence me also," she answered; and pointing to the man who personified Satan, added, "It is that man--Francis Vidit--the man under whose iron thraldom both Aline and myself have been compelled to commit the profanity that has terrified us; the man whose heart is as black with wickedness as that of the Evil One he now represents. He is the murderer of Roddy Morgan!" The villainous-looking fellow made a dash forward with a second knife in his hand, but in an instant both Jack's revolver and my own were at his head and he fell behind, flinching. "Hold back!" I cried. "Drop that knife this instant, or by Heaven! I'll put a bullet through you!" At that moment, while he stood glaring at me, Muriel placed something to her mouth and blew shrilly. It was a police whistle. In a second the door was burst open, and an inspector in uniform, a detective and several constables, sprang into the room, creating a confusion utterly indescribable. Their entry was so sudden that everybody stood dumbfounded. In the detective I recognised Priestly, the man who had had in hand the inquiries regarding Roddy's death, and in a moment saw how cleverly Muriel had arranged the details of her revenge. "Arrest that man!" she cried, pointing to the cringing ruffian before us. "That man, Francis Vidit, I declare to be the murderer of Mr Morgan!" Two constables stepped forward quickly, but the man whose Satanic garb was so hideous, uttered a terrible curse, and with his face livid, turned quickly and attacked the men with the knife in his hand. In his desperation he was powerful as a lion, but in a few moments the inspector and the others had overpowered him, and he stood before us held helpless within their grasp. It was no doubt a smart capture, and the police owed it to Muriel's calmness and careful arrangements. "Let my hand go!" the wretched man cried. "I want to get my handkerchief to wipe my face. Don't hold me so tight; I shan't hurt you," he laughed with a hoarse, hideous laugh, which sounded through the place. Then, with a sudden twist, he freed his hand, and ere they could stop him he had placed something in his mouth and swallowed it. "You can do what you like with me now, you fools!" he shrieked wildly. "I have no fear of you!" "Look!" cried Muriel. "See his face! He has poisoned himself!"