“I awaited the Jew’s reply with some curiosity. As I had anticipated, it consisted of a foul and unfounded imputation against my poor mother. It was, in fact, more than I could bear in silence, and the tolerance of old Ryder, too, had reached its limit. For, at the moment that I wrenched open the panel and sprang into the room to confront this slanderer, I heard the sound of a blow, followed by an animal-like roar of anger from Heidelberger. “The next moment, he seized the old man by the throat. Before he had time to proceed further I struck him heavily with my fist, so that he released his grip and turned to face his new assailant. “One tribute I must pay to Heidelberger. He was, seemingly, incapable of fear; for this sudden attack by a person he had not known to be present seemed only to arouse a new resentment. His face, as he turned and looked me up and down, contained no trace of fear. “‘So it’s you that wants the picture, is it?’ he sneered. ‘I suppose you are----’ “‘Stop!’ I said. ‘I am Roland Crespie, and can listen to no more of your foul slanders!’ “For a second he hesitated, looking from me to Ryder and then toward the picture, dimly discernible in the light of the candle which he had brought with him. Then, before I could divine his intention, he drew a knife from his pocket, and, opening a blade, took a step in the direction of the portrait. ‘You shall never have it!’ he said. “He had actually inserted the blade in the canvas--as an examination will show--when I came upon him, and we closed in a desperate struggle. “In what followed, one can almost trace the finger of destiny. Heidelberger was a more powerful man than myself, but in his fury he endeavoured to stab me with the knife which he held in his hand! “I seized his wrist, but he wrenched it from my grasp. I leapt back from him--as he struck down with the knife--and to the left of one of the posts supporting the minstrels’ gallery. “In the blindness of his anger, Heidelberger failed to perceive the proximity of this post. Moreover, it was very dark under the gallery. He threw himself forward savagely--and struck his shoulder against the post. The impact was tremendous. “Gentlemen! I tremble, now, to relate what happened! The ax of ‘Black Geoffrey,’ which had hung for centuries before the rail above, was shaken from its place by the shock and its time-worn fastenings were torn bodily from their hold. At the instant that Heidelberger’s huge body struck the post, the great ax, as though detached by invisible hands, fell, blade downward, cleaving the head of the unfortunate man and remaining, with quivering shaft, upright in the oaken floor! “The suddenness of the tragedy almost dazed me, and I was awakened to its awful reality by old Ryder’s cry--‘Oh, Master Roly!’ As Master Roly I had always been known to the old butler, and this name it was which someone stated to be ‘holy.’