When Robinson parted from them, Random and Hope went to the lodgings of the latter, so as to read over the confession and learn exactly to what extent Mrs. Jasher had been mixed up in the tragedy of the green mummy. She had declared herself innocent even on her death-bed, and so far as the two could judge at this point, she certainly had not actually strangled Sidney Bolton. But it might be--and it appeared to be more than probable--that she was an accessory after the fact. But this they could learn from the confession, and they sat in Hope's quiet little sitting-room, in which the fire had been just lighted by the artist's landlady, with the scattered sheets neatly ranged before them. “Perhaps you would like a cup of coffee, or a whisky and soda,” suggested Archie, “before starting to read?” “I should,” assented Random, who looked weary and pale. “The events of the night have somewhat knocked me up. Coffee for choice--nice, black, strong, hot coffee.” Hope nodded and went to order the same. When he returned he sat down, after closing the door carefully, and proceeded to read. But before he could speak Random raised his hand. “Let us chat until the coffee comes in,” he said; “then we shall not be interrupted when reading.” “All right,” said Hope. “Have a cigar!” “No, thanks. I have been smoking all the night. I shall sit here by the fire and wait for the coffee. You look chippy yourself.” “And small wonder,” said Archie wearily. “We little thought when we left the Fort last night what a time we were going to have. Fancy Mrs. Jasher having sent you the emerald after all!” “Yes. She repented, as she said, and yet I dare say--as she also said--she was sorry that she acted on her impulse. If she had not been stabbed by that damned Cockatoo, she would no doubt have destroyed that confession. I expect she wrote that also on the impulse of the moment.” “She confessed as much,” said Hope, leaning his head on his hand and staring into the fire. “She must have been cognizant of the truth all along. I wonder if she was an accessory before or after the fact?” “What I wonder,” said Random, after a moment's thought, “is, what Braddock has to do with the matter?” Hope raised his head in surprise. “Why, nothing. Mrs. Jasher did not say a word against Braddock.” “I know that. All the same, Cockatoo was completely under the thumb of the Professor, and probably was instructed by him to strangle Bolton.” “That is impossible,” cried the artist, much agitated. “Think of what you are saying, Random. What a terrible thing it would be for Lucy if the Professor were guilty in such a way as you suggest!” “Really, I fail to see that. Miss Kendal is no relation to Braddock save by marriage. His iniquities have nothing to do with her, or with you.” “But it's impossible, I tell you, Random. Throughout the whole of this case Braddock has acted in a perfectly innocent way.”