"I am glad that there is one person at least who, hearing that admission, does not at once believe me guilty of a dreadful crime. Oh, I assure you, I swear to you, that I never meant to kill the--the--fellow." She shuddered. "Of course you didn't. Tell me all about it, and let me see if I can't help you in some way." A faint gleam of hope shot across her face. "It is a long story," she began. "You remember that I told the Coroner about a certain gentleman who called on me on that fatal Tuesday evening?" "Yes." "Well, that was all true. Mr. Greywood (for, of course, you now know that that was my visitor's name) and I quarrelled (no matter why), and we parted in anger. This is no news to you. What happened later is what I have tried so hard to conceal. Mr. Greywood had hardly left when I was startled by a violent ringing at the door-bell. Thinking that it was my late visitor who had returned, to apologise, probably, I hurried to the door, and incautiously opened it. In the dim light, the man before me resembled Mr. Greywood so closely that I did not doubt that it was he, and moved aside to allow him to enter. As he did so, he pushed roughly against me. I stared at him in astonishment, and to my horror, discovered that I was face to face with a perfect stranger. The fellow banged the door behind him, and stood with his back against it. He was mumbling something I couldn't catch, and his head rolled alarmingly from side to side. That the man was insane was the only thing that occurred to me, and as I realised that I was locked into an apartment with a lunatic, I became panic-stricken, and lost my head. Instead of making a dash for the upper floor, where I could either have barricaded myself into one of the bed rooms, or perhaps have managed to escape by the back stairs, I stupidly ran into the drawing-room, which is only shut off from the hall by portières, and has no other outlet. The brute, of course, followed me, and stood in the door way, barring my exit. I was caught like a rat in a trap. He lurched in my direction, muttering imprecations. His speech was so thick that I could only understand a word here and there. I made out, however, that he wished me to give him something that night, which, he said, I had promised to let him have the next day. As he staggered toward me, I uttered a piercing shriek, but even as I did so, I knew that there was little or no chance of anybody's hearing me. The building was almost empty, and the street at that hour practically deserted.