“So I should imagine. I’m afraid, Mr. Ferguson, that you’ll have to make a drawing of this knife of yours, in order to make the judge and jury and the doctors understand what kind of article it was. When you entered the room, was Miss Moore already there?” “Yes; she was there on an errand of mercy.” “Indeed. Did she stop the proceedings in order to tell you so?” “I know.” “I have already remarked that you seem to know a good deal about some things and nothing at all about others. How long was it after your entrance that the murder began?” “I rushed at him instantly, without a word of warning.” “Describe how the crime was committed--in detail.” “He was standing with his back to me. I stabbed him before he had a chance to turn; when he did turn, I stabbed him in the chest.” “And then in the face?” “Yes; and then in the face.” “What was Miss Moore doing all this time?” “She was taken by surprise. So soon as she understood what was happening she rushed to the rescue.” “I suppose, by then, you had stabbed him thirty or forty times. The corpse is disfigured by hundreds of wounds.” “I can’t say.” “And, after the rescue, did you continue stabbing him?” “I did.” “And what did Miss Moore do--nothing?” “She tried to prevent me--she did all that she could.” “Struggled with you, for instance?” “Yes.” “Do you say that Miss Moore struggled with you?” “Look here, Symonds, confound you, and confound your questions! Do you know that I’m beginning to feel like killing you?” “Steady! Keep a little farther off. You’re not the sort of man with whom I should care to struggle; especially as now, for the first time, I believe you. I have no doubt that, at the present moment, you feel much more like killing me than you ever felt like killing Edwin Lawrence. No, Mr. Ferguson, I’ve an inkling of what you’re driving at, and I’m not sure that, policeman though I am, in a sort of a way I don’t admire you. But you’re no hand at a game like this. You’re no fictionist, it’s not your line; your plots don’t dovetail. We still have to find out how these stains came upon the lady’s cloak.” “Aren’t you--aren’t you going to arrest me?” “I am not, at present. Perhaps, when you are in the witness-box, you may succeed in inducing the judge to order your arrest; but, in that case, I’m afraid that it will be for perjury. Come along, Gray. If I were you, Mr. Ferguson, I’d let things take their course; they will, however you may try to stop them. If the lady is innocent, it will be made plain; if she is not, that also will be made plain; and, you may take my word for it, that it’s just as well for every one concerned that it should be.” The Inspector went out of the room with the cloak rolled up under his arm--I making no sort of effort to prevent him. The truth is that I was conscious that I had succeeded in making an ass of myself, and in nothing else, that the backbone had all gone out of me, and I felt as limp as a rag.