"Will you let me offer you some refreshment?" said Ronald, as he arose to leave the room. "Yes; send me a glass of brandy and soda," she replied. "I feel worn out." Ronald bowed, and then went out with Foster to see after their things. They sent up the drink to Mrs. Verschoyle, and then Ronald wrote a letter to Carmela, telling her he was going up to London on business, but did not mention what. Foster paid the bill, got their dressing-bags, and in a few minutes they were on their way to the station. While Foster was getting the tickets, Mrs. Verschoyle being on the platform, Ronald took the opportunity to ask his friend a question. "Do you think her story is true?" he asked. "If it isn't, Vassalla can easily clear himself." was the ambiguous reply. CHAPTER XXV. GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY. Meanwhile Vassalla, quite unconscious of the storm that was about to break over his head, was enjoying himself in London, and had made arrangements to go to Marlow and see Carmela. He thought he had quite subdued Mrs. Verschoyle, and that every impediment to his marriage was removed. So he sat in his room at the Langham, smoking a cigar and moralizing complacently on the state of affairs. "Fortune favours me," he said, aloud, idly watching the blue wreaths of smoke curling round his head. "I have silenced that devilish Bianca, and won my beautiful Carmela--both at the same time. But, how wonderful it is that the death of Verschoyle should have been the means of winning me both a wife and a fortune Now, when I am married, I must be quiet. I will take my charming wife to Malta, and live on the estate. She does not care for me now; but she will grow fond--yes--she will grow fond." And so he went on building castles in the air, and dreaming vain dreams, that were destined never to become true, for at that moment there came a knock at the door, which, if he had known its full purport, would have alarmed him as much as the knocking at the gate did Macbeth. But, as he did not know, he merely called out, "Come in," and went on smoking. Enter a puzzled-looking waiter, showing in Mrs. Verschoyle, Ronald Monteith, Gerald Foster, and a stranger. Vassalla, turning his head, saw them, and sprang to his feet in astonishment. "What the devil--" he began, but Mrs. Verschoyle interrupted him. "That is the Marchese Vassalla," she said, pointing to the dumb-foundered Maltese gentleman; whereat the stranger advanced and produced a warrant. "Matteo Vassalla, I arrest you in the Queen's name----" "Arrest me!" interrupted the Marchese. "For the murder of Leopold Verschoyle," finished the detective. "Is this a joke?" asked Vassalla, angrily. "You will not find it so," said Ronald. "It is my duty to inform you," said the detective, stolidly, "that whatever you say will be used in evidence at your trial." "Bah!" snarled Vassalla, with a gesture of contempt, turning his back on the officer of the law. "Who accuses me of this crime?"