"My wits by this time had come back to me, and I assured him I had promised a young friend to go to a masked ball to take care of him--that was all; and that I could not but feel sorry he had caught me in the manner he had. In fact, I tried to laugh the matter off; but I failed to disarm his suspicions, which evidently had been keenly aroused. He sat down on a chair, breathing very heavily. I entreated him to return to his hotel, but he declined. "'Cooper Silwood,' he said, 'I do not believe you are telling me the truth. I do not believe this invention of yours about the masked ball. Again I tell you, you are not that kind of man.' "'You do not know what you are saying,' I protested, 'your illness----' "'Enough, enough!' he cried, jumping up. Then he stood for a moment struggling with himself as it were, clutched at his throat, staggered, and fell in a heap on the floor. I rushed forward to raise him, but he was already dead. When I saw he was dead, I was distraught. First I put on my disguise once more, and went forth into the night, reeling like a blind man. But a few minutes' thought induced me to return. I resolved to leave London by the earliest train, and did leave next morning." Exhausted by this long effort, Silwood ceased speaking. Gilbert never doubted Silwood had spoken the truth. Besides, he had noticed how in several points his statements were confirmed by the evidence at the inquest on Morris Thornton. The explanation of the Mystery of Lincoln's Inn was, after all, curiously simple, once the facts were known in their entirety. "I believe I have told you all," said Silwood, as Gilbert stood silently by his bed. "Is there anything you wish to ask me? If there is, ask it now, for I feel a dreadful weakness coming over me." As the man spoke, a shiver shook him from head to foot. "No. I think there is nothing else," said Gilbert, gently, his heart again softened. "You will not forget your promise about my wife and child?" Silwood asked eagerly. "I shall not." "They need never know who Cooper Silwood was, need they?" "Perhaps not," agreed Gilbert, but doubtingly. "If you can, let them believe I am none other than the James Russell they love, and who loves----" But Silwood's voice failed him; his eyes overflowed. "Let us go," said Gilbert to Hankey. "What an extraordinary man!" exclaimed Hankey to Gilbert, when they were in the open air. "Wonderfully bright, too, but he chose to run crooked, not straight. Yet there was good in the man--I suppose there is in every man." "He was an evil, wicked man," said Gilbert, speaking of Silwood as one already dead, "but he was not all evil, all wicked." CHAPTER XXXVIII "What do you now intend to do?" asked the detective, after they had emerged from the hospital tent.