“It wasn’t Miss Deane’s bag,” he admitted. “It was one I gave Cato--” Thorne started and gazed blankly at the counterfeiter.--“Don’t blame Cato, Dr. Thorne; he’s a faithful old darky with a fondness for collecting money. He believed me an eccentric inventor, and I paid him well for doing errands for me, as well as pledging him a share in my ‘patent rights,’ and it was by his aid that I got my material to the cabin. By the way,” addressing Anthony, “the first shot you heard at the cabin today was fired by one of your sentries higher up the ridge at Cato, and I suspect the old man’s running yet. I was looking in that direction while you were staring at the cabin and I saw the whole thing.” “How did my card come to be in the bag, Murray?” asked Vera. “I found it among some old papers in Brainard’s overcoat. I burned the papers at the cabin, but your card was inadvertently slipped into the bag with the money Cato was taking to-- That doesn’t interest you,” with a sidelong glance at the detective, “so I won’t mention names.” Mitchell regarded him sourly for a second. “Cato can talk,” he said meaningly, then turned to Vera. “Did you observe Murray’s flashlight in Brainard’s bedroom on Monday night, Miss Deane?” “No.” Vera moved a little forward and addressed them all. “I went some time after midnight to see how Mr. Brainard was getting on, and after my return to Craig’s bedroom I sat almost with my back to the mirror and sideways to the bed in a big wing chair. I did not glance upward toward the transom but recall staring steadily at Craig, whom I could see but dimly, and all the while I thought of nothing but Bruce Brainard’s treatment of my sister.” Vera paused a second to steady her voice, then continued: “It seemed bitter irony that I should be nursing him. The news that he and Millicent might be engaged shocked me, and I was only waiting until the morning to tell Mrs. Porter all that I knew about Bruce.” She stopped to clear her voice which had grown husky. “At about three o’clock or a little after I went into Bruce’s room and was astounded to find the night light out. I felt my way to the bed and over to the table, found a box of matches and relit the candle.” Her eyes grew large with horror as the gruesome scene came vividly before her. “The sight of Bruce lying there dead deprived me of my voice, almost of my reason. Some minutes passed before I could pull myself together, then glancing down I saw that in searching for the matches I had brushed against the side of the bed and that my skirt was blood-stained.” Vera stumbled in her speech. “The last time I saw Bruce I told him that I hoped he would meet with a violent death--that was five years ago--and my spoken wish had been fulfilled.” “Vera,” Dorothy approached her sister and clasped her tenderly, “don’t talk any more.”