"No, it wasn't. Old Clarke came in at the window calling softly on Uncle Henry. I heard his voice, and peeped out to see him. He nearly squealed when he spotted the body, so I don't think that he is guilty. Then he groaned and prayed, and, for some reason, arranged the bedclothes smoothly. Afterwards he cut as hard as he could, frightened out of his life, as I was. In a few minutes I crept out, and stamped the corpse's forehead, which was the only thing I could do to put myself square with Jerce. When I crept upstairs and locked myself again in my room, I thought that everything was safe. But it wasn't," grumbled Ferdy, apparently thinking himself aggrieved. "Zara was knocking about, and spotted me through the window. She made me break off with Prudence by threatening to tell the police. I said that Prudence wouldn't let me off, but Zara said she could manage that, and she did too, by telling the poor girl that Mr. Clarke had committed the crime, which I swear he hadn't," finished Ferdy, generously. "Is that all?" questioned Clarice, when he ended out of breath. "What more do you wish me to say?" asked Ferdy, indignantly. "I'm not to blame, as I couldn't help Uncle Henry being killed. And I never forged the cheque--that is, the name, you know, Clarry--I only altered the figures a little. And I swear I never stabbed Uncle Henry, but just stamped him with the Fern." "That was an abominable thing to do," cried Ackworth, angrily. "I don't see that," said the young man, obstinately. "What did it matter when Uncle Henry was dead? I had to get even with Jerce, and save myself somehow. And I did, too. Jerce, when he came for the post-mortem, and saw the stamp on the forehead, gave me back the cheque right enough, and I burnt it, so no one can harm me in that way. I think you are making a great row over nothing," ended Ferdy, in an injured tone, "as I am quite innocent." Clarice looked at Anthony, and Anthony at Clarice, in despair. Both of them were amazed at the callous view Ferdy took of the case. He really did not seem to be aware of the enormity of his fault, and looked upon his crimes--for crimes they were--as merely mistakes of ordinary life. Perhaps Anthony--for Clarice was too heart-broken to speak--would have proceeded to lecture Ferdy on his iniquities, but that a ring came to the front door. Jane, at Miss Baird's feet, raised her head, and Ackworth went to the drawing-room door. When he opened it the cheerful, bland voice of Sir Daniel Jerce was heard remarking on the bad weather to Mrs. Rebson. At once Jane began to growl, and she flew across the room.