“You are going to tell me all about this,” said Rex, busy with the wire-cutters, “and of course, I’ll be your best man and take in hand the arrangements for the swellest wedding this little village has seen in years,” he babbled on and Tab was glad to let him talk. Presently they came back to the subject of the house. Rex made no attempt to hide his disappointment that the ideal site was taken. “I should have given it to you, old man,” he said impulsively, “what a wedding gift for a pal! But you shall have a house that is worthy of you, if I have to build the darned thing myself! As an architect I am a failure,” he went on, “my views are too eccentric. Poor old Stott swooned at the sight of some of my designs,” he chuckled to himself. “I’m not going to give up the attempt to carry my great idea into effect,” he told Tab at parting, “I shall see Yeh Ling at the earliest opportunity. I may be able to persuade him to sell.” Tab went down to Hertford the next afternoon and never had his bicycle moved more leisurely. “I told Rex,” he blurted out and he saw her face fall. “He wasn’t hurt,” said Tab, anxious to relieve her mind, “in fact, he behaved like a brick! Do you mind very much? My telling him, I mean?” “No,” she said quietly. “He wasn’t hurt?” Tab laughed. “It may sound uncomplimentary to you but I am sure that Rex was only temporarily infatuated.” He saw a smile dawning and took her face between his hands. “If I were Rex,” he said, “I should hate Tab Holland.” “Rex is stronger minded,” she said. “Let us go into the garden. I have been thinking things out, and I feel that there is something that you ought to know, and the longer I put it off, the harder it will be to tell.” He followed her, carrying an armful of cushions, arranged her chair, and sat upon its arm; and then, in the most unconcerned voice, holding no hint of the tremendous statement she was to make, she said: “I killed Jesse Trasmere.” XXVII He leapt to his feet. “What?” he gasped. “I killed Jesse Trasmere,” she repeated, “not directly, with my own hands, but I am responsible for his death, almost as assuredly as if I had shot him.” She caught his hand and held it. “How white you are! I was a brute to put it that way. In our profession we love these dramatic--no I don’t mean that, Tab.” “Will you tell me what you do mean?” She signalled him to sit on the foot-rest of the chair.