Spargo looked at Breton. They knew what Myerst did not know—that the stamps of which he spoke were lying in Spargo’s breast pocket, where they had lain since he had picked them up from the litter and confusion of Chamberlayne’s floor. “Why,” asked Breton, after a pause, “why did you never accuse Cardlestone, or Chamberlayne, of the murder?” “I did! I have accused him a score of times—and Elphick, too,” replied Myerst with emphasis. “Not at first, mind you—I never let Chamberlayne know that I ever suspected him for some time. I had my own game to play. But at last—not so many days ago—I did. I accused them both. That’s how I got the whip hand of them. They began to be afraid—by that time Elphick had got to know all about Cardlestone’s past as Chamberlayne. And as I tell you, Elphick’s fond of Cardlestone. It’s queer, but he is. He—wants to shield him.” “What did they say when you accused them?” asked Breton. “Let’s keep to that point—never mind their feelings for one another.” “Just so, but that feeling’s a lot more to do with this mystery than you think, my young friend,” said Myerst. “What did they say, you ask? Why, they strenuously denied it, Cardlestone swore solemnly to me that he had no part or lot in the murder of Maitland. So did Elphick. But—they know something about the murder. If those two old men can’t tell you definitely who actually struck John Maitland down, I’m certain that they have a very clear idea in their minds as to who really did! They—” A sudden sharp cry from the inner room interrupted Myerst. Breton and Spargo started to their feet and made for the door. But before they could reach it Elphick came out, white and shaking. “He’s gone!” he exclaimed in quavering accents. “My old friend’s gone—he’s dead! I was—asleep. I woke suddenly and looked at him. He——” Spargo forced the old man into a chair and gave him some whisky; Breton passed quickly into the inner room; only to come back shaking his head. “He’s dead,” he said. “He evidently died in his sleep.” “Then his secret’s gone with him,” remarked Myerst, calmly. “And now we shall never know if he did kill John Maitland or if he didn’t. So that’s done with!” Old Elphick suddenly sat up in his chair, pushing Spargo fiercely away from his side. “He didn’t kill John Maitland!” he cried angrily, attempting to shake his fist at Myerst. “Whoever says he killed Maitland lies. He was as innocent as I am. You’ve tortured and tormented him to his death with that charge, as you’re torturing me—among you. I tell you he’d nothing to do with John Maitland’s death—nothing!” Myerst laughed. “Who had, then?” he said. “Hold your tongue!” commanded Breton, turning angrily on him. He sat down by Elphick’s side and laid his hand soothingly on the old man’s arm.