“I charge you formally, madam, with the murder of this man on your own confession, which I have written down, and I warn you that anything else you may say will be given in evidence against you.” “Yes,” said Fenella, “he attempted my life, and I killed him.” “You are my prisoner, my lady,” said the inspector; “but you may call in any friend you wish to see. At the same time, I again warn you that anything you may say will be taken down and may be given in evidence against you. I will do my duty as considerately as possible, but I have a duty to perform, and that of course you will understand.” The first editions of the newspapers gave conflicting reports of the count’s death. For a time the public did not understand whether the count had been murdered in his bed by burglars, whether he was the victim of Nihilistic vengeance, or whether he had committed suicide; but on the morning following the tragedy they were regaled with all the strange story and much more besides. The confession of Lady Francis Onslow was a text upon which everybody had a sermon to preach. But it was speedily a point of comment that the marks upon the throat of the dead man suggested a more powerful grip than that of Fenella. There was something in the condition of the body which puzzled the experts. This was no ordinary murder, everybody agreed; nor indeed was it, as we know. At the inquest the medical testimony showed that death might have been caused either by strangulation or by the various stabbings that disfigured the body. It seemed to the experts that the man had been done to death by some person far more powerful than the prisoner. The marks on the throat were almost as strong, and the bruises and depression of the windpipe as great, as would be caused by hanging. The man had been gripped by a powerful hand, while the stabs had been given with a force that had left the impression of the handle upon the flesh. The witnesses were few, but they were sufficient to show that a murder had been committed, though the jury and the public had evidently grave doubts about the criminality of the prisoner, Lady Francis Onslow. One of the jurors had asked a pointed question as to the possibility of the deceased having committed suicide. This was, however, only a kindly suggestion in the direction of Lady Francis Onslow’s innocence. The count had been killed by other hands than his own. There was no doubt about that. What irritated the public in regard to the first day’s inquiry was that, while there were hints at scandal, nothing came out that might be called piquant. Of course, there was the fact that the count was in Lady Onslow’s bedroom at midnight; but none of the details that led up to this piece of audacity--if it were audacity--were disclosed.