“Didn’t you go abroad?” gasped Tab, the minor deception for the moment bulking largely. Rex shook his head. “I didn’t go any farther than the mouth of the river,” he said. “I came off with the pilot. The cables and wireless messages that I sent were despatched by the steward, whom I paid for that purpose. I never left town.” Tab could say nothing. “If you had done as I wished,” said Rex with an odd note of reproach in his voice, “I should have made you a rich man, Tab, but like the sneaking swine you are, you took the woman who was fore-ordained to be my wife! Your beastly lips have touched hers, my goddess!” His voice quavered. Tab, staring at him, realized that he was in the presence of a madman. “You think I am mad,” said Rex, as though he was guessing the other’s thoughts. “Perhaps I am, but I adore her. I killed Jesse Trasmere because I wanted her, could not wait for her, needed the money to possess her.” In a flash there came to Tab, Ursula’s words: “I killed Jesse Trasmere. I was the indirect cause.” So she knew! That was the explanation of her strange attitude when Rex had come into the room. And Yeh Ling knew, and had come soft-footed to the door of the private dining-room ready to leap upon the visitor if he showed any signs of hostility. Yeh Ling, the watchful, the soft-footed one, the everlasting guardian--in his heart Tab Holland thanked God for Yeh Ling. Rex went out of the vault and was gone for five minutes. When he came back he was carrying a writing-pad which he put on the table, pulled up a chair and sat down. “I am going to give you the scoop of your life, Tab,” he said. There was no mockery in his voice, it was, if anything, very serious and gentle. “I am going to write a full confession of how I killed all three of you.” Tab said nothing. This whimsical act of the man was in keeping with the theory of lunacy. For half-an-hour, he listened to the scratching of a pen and the rustle of paper as one by one the sheets were covered, blotted, and neatly put aside. What was his end to be? Rex would kill him; he had no doubt whatever on this score. The man was impervious to appeal and it was senseless to call for help. His voice would never escape the confinement of that underground room. Carver and he had made an experiment after Trasmere’s death. He had stayed in the vault and fired a blank cartridge whilst Carver was outside the house listening, but no sound had come out. Tab looked round for the sign of a weapon, but if Lander had brought one, it was not visible. “There, I’ve said everything, and here it shall stay on the table and when they find your bones they will know why you died.” Watching him, Tab saw him sign his name with a flourish, the old flourish which had often amused him. “What are you going to do, Lander?” he asked quietly and Lander smiled. “Have no fear,” he said, “I am not going to disfigure your athletic body or do you any violence. You are going to stay here and die.”