“He flung away all artifice, and became the old man he was. The removal of his false teeth alone gave him twenty years of age. “He took the cottage at Sonning, determining to lie close. But the murder instinct was too strong for him, and he killed Bronson.” Then Freyberger told his own story. “I was lying in the cottage listening to this monster digging my grave, when, suddenly, I heard him fall crash amidst the weeds. I fainted, I believe. Mr Hellier will tell you the rest.” “I had a reason for mixing myself up in this affair,” said Hellier; “and, reading of the murder of Bronson I came down to Sonning to make inquiries. I asked, had anyone come to live there lately? and I was told by a woman that a gentleman had taken a cottage on the Henley Road. Fortunately, she did not say an old gentleman, or I should not have gone there. “I went to the cottage, knocked, could get no answer, and went round the backway. “In the back garden, by a newly-dug grave, I found a man lying, with a spade clutched in his hand; he was dead. I found Mr Freyberger bound in the cottage, and I released him.” “Klein must have dropped dead then?” said the chief. “Yes,” replied Freyberger. “He died of heart-disease, accelerated by the excitement of digging my grave.” “One last question,” said the Chief, “How about those initials tattooed on the body of Gyde?” “They were tattooed after death,” replied Freyberger, “and as a blind. He had the art of tattooing _post mortem_ and, strangely enough, it was this piece of cleverness that connected the cases in my mind and gave us our man.” -------------- As Hellier left the Yard that night, somebody, who had followed him, touched him upon his shoulder. It was Freyberger. “I want to tell you,” he said, “just this. If you hadn’t mixed up in the affair and scented out those subsidiary murders I wouldn’t have caught Klein.” “You mean,” said Hellier, laughing, “Klein would not have caught you.” “Yes, that is the better way of putting it, for Klein was the real hero of this business; and if all criminals were made like Klein—” “Why, then,” said Hellier, “society would be lost, unless all detectives were made like Freyberger.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XLII NEXT evening, at nine o’clock, Hellier called at the Langham. Mademoiselle Lefarge, who had come to England in response to a telegram, was waiting for him. “Well?” she asked, as she held both of his hands in hers. “It is done,” said Hellier. “To-morrow your father’s name will be cleared in the sight of all men. You have suffered and waited a long, long time, but yesterday you were avenged.” -------------- Throstle Hall, up in Cumberland, still lies empty, waiting a tenant, for Sir Anthony’s heir, a distant cousin, has no fancy for the place.