"Because I was perfectly aware that I had been followed over here," retorted Lane calmly. "And, as I considered it nobody's business but my own if I chose to call on Miss Carew, I decided to avoid them." "And what did you and Annette, Miss Thornton's French maid, discuss before you left here?" Brett rose to his feet and confronted Lane squarely as he put the question. "I did not speak to anyone except Miss Carew and Miss Thornton while in this house,"--steadily. "No? Then perhaps you only saw the maid, Annette, when she was _asleep_?"--with emphasis. "I don't catch your meaning?" Lane tapped his foot nervously with his swagger stick. "Listen to me, Captain Lane,"--Brett dropped back in his chair and emphasized his remarks by frequent taps on the table with his left hand. "You can't dodge the issue with fake testimony." "I am dodging nothing!" Lane's eyes flashed ominously and his voice deepened, the voice of a born fighter, accustomed to command. "I have no testimony to fake." "I suppose you will say next,"--sarcastically,--"that you don't know the maid, Annette, is dead." "Dead?" echoed Lane, bounding from his chair. "Dead--murdered last night." "Good God!" There was no mistaking Lane's agitation and surprise. Brett watched him closely; if he was acting, it was a perfect performance. "How--what killed her?" "Asphyxiated by illuminating gas,"--briefly,--"when asleep last night." "This is horrible!" Lane paced the floor in uncontrollable excitement. "But what," pulling himself up, "what has that unfortunate girl's death to do with me?" "What had _you_ to do with the unfortunate girl's death is more to the point," retorted Brett meaningly, and Lane recoiled. "By God; I'll not stand such an insinuation!" He made a threatening step toward Brett, who did not move. "Are you such a fool as to imagine because I was in this house for a short time last night that I killed a servant whom I had seen occasionally when she opened the door for me on my calling at Miss Thornton's residence?" "I am not a fool, nor am I a believer in miracles." Brett grew cool as Lane's excitement rose. "I was to have seen Annette this morning to get sworn testimony which she said would implicate you in Senator Carew's murder." Lane staggered back, appalled. "Instead, I find her dead, under mysterious circumstances; you are the only person whom her death benefits. And you were in this house, unknown to the inmates, and, by your own admission, no one saw you leave it. It is stretching the probabilities to suppose her death was a coincidence. You, and you alone,"--his voice rang out clearly,--"had the motive and the opportunity to bring about her death." "I deny it--deny it absolutely!" thundered Lane, his knuckles showing white, so tightly were his fingers clenched over his swagger stick, which he raised threateningly.