“And then he spoke—in a low, tense voice: “‘If you shot him, dear,’ he said, ‘nothing matters save getting you off.’ “Some people,” pursued the Barrister, “might call it a victory—some people would call it a defeat. Depends on one’s outlook; depends on how much one really believes in the ‘Could not love you half so much, loved I not honour more’ idea. But certainly the murderer himself was very pleased.” “The murderer?” cried the Ordinary Man sitting up suddenly. “The murderer,” returned the Barrister. “That’s why I mentioned about my cigarette-case this morning. He had been standing behind the suit of armour in the corner the whole time. He came out suddenly, and we all stared at him speechlessly, and then he started coughing—a dreadful tearing cough—which stained his handkerchief scarlet. “‘I must apologise,’ he said when he could speak, ‘but there was another thing besides shooting Granger that I wanted to do before I died. That was why I didn’t want to be caught to-night. However, a man must cough when he’s got my complaint. But I’m glad I restrained myself long enough to hear your decision, Sir Edward. I congratulate you on it.’ “‘You scoundrel!’ began Shoreham, starting forward, ‘why didn’t you declare yourself sooner?’ “‘Because there’s another thing I wanted to do,’ he repeated wearily. ‘In Paris, in the Rue St. Claire, there lives a woman. She was beautiful once—to me she is beautiful now. She was _my_ woman until——’ And his eyes sought the dead body of Henry Granger. “Ruth took a deep breath. ‘Yes—until?’ she whispered. “‘Until he came,’ said the man gravely. ‘And God will decide between him and me. But I would have liked to look on her once more, and hold her hand, and tell her, yet again, that I understood—absolutely.’ “It was then Ruth Granger crossed to him. “‘What is her name and the number of the house?’ she said. “‘Sybil Deering is her name,’ he answered slowly, ‘and the number is fourteen.’ “‘Will you leave it to me?’ she asked. “For a moment he stared at her in silence, then he bowed. “‘From the bottom of my heart I thank you, Lady Granger, and I hope you will have all the happiness you deserve.’ He glanced at Shoreham and smiled. ‘When a man loves everything else goes to the wall, doesn’t it? Remember that in the future, Sir Edward, when they’re standing before you, wondering, trying to read their fate. Someone loves them, just as you love her.’” The Barrister rose and drained his glass. “And that is the conclusion of your suffering,” he remarked. “Was the man hanged?” asked the Soldier. “No, he died a week later of galloping consumption.” “And what of the other two?” demanded the Actor. “They married, and are living happily together to-day, doing fruit farming as a hobby.” “Fruit farming!” echoed the Doctor. “Why fruit farming?” “Something to do,” said the Barrister. “You see, Sir Edward has never tried another case. Some men are made that way.”