“Recalling your threat to kill Bruce, I imagined you had carried it out,” she went on, as no one spoke. “I crept back to my bedroom, horrified beyond words, and later it occurred to me that perhaps Bruce was not beyond medical aid, and I rushed downstairs to telephone Dr. Thorne--” She stopped, unable to go on. “I secured the set of razors and first hid them in an old trunk in the attic, then in the cannon--the rest you know.” Noyes, rising with some difficulty, stepped forward, and with a manner not to be denied, slipped his one arm about her waist, and led her across the room. Dorothy, standing nearest the heavy mahogany door as it slowly closed behind the pair, saw Millicent’s head droop forward and her discreet ears alone caught Noyes’ low whisper: “Mine, at last!” Silence prevailed in the library for some minutes after the departure of Millicent and her lover, then Thorne turned to Murray. “Was Miss Millicent in the room when you killed Brainard?” he asked. “No, she had gone out some minutes before,” answered Murray, his voice slightly strained. “I went in to see Brainard just to talk things over with him. He was lying half asleep, and when Miss Millicent appeared I was waiting in one corner of the room. Brainard must have heard her entrance, for he looked at her, half terrified and half hypnotized. Finally, after staring at him, she dropped the razor on the bed and left the room. Then I crept over to the bed, and the sight of the razor put the devil into me. I knew Brainard would squeal on me as soon as he felt well enough to think things over; he would never believe that I had reformed, and my blood boiled at the prospect of arrest and losing the results of my work at the cabin and in Mrs. Porter’s town house. I got the razor--” He shuddered, and did not complete the sentence. Mitchell stirred uneasily and eyed Murray askance. “When you found the cabin was in the hands of the Secret Service why didn’t you clear out instead of coming back here?” he demanded. “Because it never dawned on me that Brainard’s murder could be traced to me,” admitted Murray; dejection as well as fear had crept into his manner. “I knew you would find no incriminating papers at the cabin, and old Cato is faithful--he would not have told on me. I could not bear to run away, in itself a confession of guilt, and leave my life work behind me.” “So much for over-confidence,” commented Mitchell dryly. “Come along, Murray.” Murray got to his feet slowly, and his bow to the company was not without a certain dignity. “Good-by, ma’am,” he said, addressing Mrs. Porter. “You’ve always treated me well during the seven years I’ve lived with you. Tell Mr. Craig I don’t bear him malice.” And he vanished through the door as Mrs. Porter, her overwrought feelings mastering her, fainted for the first time in her life. An hour later Dorothy, speeding through the lower hall, was intercepted by Thorne.