"I confess that some such idea was in my mind," Frobisher admitted. "In which case was it not dangerous to ask Count Lefroy to your house? I mean to luncheon to show him the Moth, and afterwards the invitation to the fatal dinner?" "I can’t say," Frobisher replied. "I really can’t see what——" "Oh, yes you can; a clever man like yourself can see everything. The Count was as anxious to have the Moth as you were, also with an eye to these concessions. He was more anxious because he had already mortgaged the so-called concession to Mr. Aaron Benstein for a large sum of money. Did you know of that?" Frobisher hesitated a long time before he replied. He had grown singularly hot and confused; he could see no more than that a trap was being laid for him, but the bait was invisible. There was nothing for it but to tell the truth and trust to chance. "I was quite aware of what Count Lefroy had done," he said. "And yet you showed him the Cardinal Moth. He was very angry and he struck Manfred in your presence. He gave you to infer that he had by the merest chance lost the Moth itself. In other words, the man who had stolen it brought it to you instead of to Count Lefroy." Frobisher nodded. He was smiling recklessly and a little hysterically now, wondering how many hours he had been standing there under the rigid fire of questions. As he glanced up at a big clock over the coroner’s head, to his intense surprise he saw that it was barely twenty minutes. "Count Lefroy had made up his mind to steal that plant," Counsel went on. "Didn’t you guess that?" "I felt pretty sure that he would make the attempt, yes." "As a matter of fact, we contend that the attempt was made. It was all arranged. The night of your dinner, Mr. Manfred sat out under the pretence of a bad headache. The house was quiet and you were engaged with your guests, and Manfred knew exactly where to go. He made the attempt, and in doing so lost his life." "It looks very much like it," Frobisher said, hoarsely. "Do you know exactly how he lost his life?" Counsel asked. The question came quick and short like the snapping of a steel trap. Frobisher understood the import of it, nobody else practically did. He glanced at Townsend, who appeared to be deeply interested in a newspaper; the Coroner was gazing at the painted ceiling. An unconquerable rush of rage possessed the witness. "Hang you, find out," he cried. "To the devil with you and your questions. How should I know the secret that the priests of Ghan have kept so closely all these centuries? All I know is, that anybody who tampers with the Moth under certain conditions dies, and——" The Coroner suddenly woke up and sternly rebuked the witness. He listened humbly enough now, for he was spent and broken again, only longing passionately to be away. "I am truly sorry, sir, but the question irritated me," he said. "Anybody would think that I had a hand in the death of poor Manfred."