This assertion, deliberately uttered, caused the sensation which might be expected. Eleanor, with all her long habit of self-control, gave a slight shriek, and began to tremble like a leaf. Exclamations came from the lips of all--I believe James uttered an oath, but I am not certain; for I, perhaps more than any other in the room, was at that moment confounded. As the idea rushed over me that Mr. Burton had been acting a part toward _me_, and had taken these precautions to get me utterly in his power, where I could not defend myself, I started to my feet. "Sit still, Mr. Redfield," said the detective to me, sternly. "There is no avenue of escape for the guilty," and rising, he took the key of the door and put it in his pocket, giving me a look difficult to understand. I did sit down again, not so much because he told me, as that I was powerless from amazement; as I did so, I met the eyes of James, which laughed silently with a triumph so hateful that, at the moment, they seemed to me the eyes of a devil. All the feelings which, at various times, had been called up by this terrible affair, were nothing to those which overwhelmed me during the few moments which followed. My thought tracked many avenues with lightning rapidity; but I could find no light at the end of any of them. I began to believe that George Thorley, in his confession, had criminated _me_--who knew him not--who never had spoken with him--and that _this_ was the reason why Mr. Burton had withheld that document from me--falsely professing friendship, while leading me into the pit! If so, what secret enemy had I who could instruct him to lay the murder at my door? If he _had_ accused me, I was well aware that many little circumstances might be turned so as to strengthen the accusation. I sat there dumb. But there is always strength in innocence--even when betrayed by its friends! So I remained quiet and listened. "When a crime like this is committed," proceeded the detective, quite calm in the midst of our excitement, "we usually look for the _motive_. Next to avarice come the passions of revenge and jealousy in frequency. We know that money had nothing to do with Henry Moreland's death--revenge and jealousy had. There lived in Blankville three or four years ago, a young fellow, a druggist, by the name of George Thorley; you remember him, Mr. Argyll?" Mr. Argyll nodded his head.