"Because I had no use for it, If Julia had lived I should have taken her and the money to Australia as I said before, but as that villain killed her I had no heart to keep it." "What villain do you mean?" "The man who killed her." "Don't you know who it was?" "If I did," cried Vass, with a light flashing into his usually cold eyes, "I'd murder him." "You have no suspicion?" "No; I can think of no one. Julia might have told me the name. I daresay she would have done so, but that the wretch killed her." "Just in time to save himself from being betrayed," said Torry. "And now, Mr. Vass, why did you not tell us this before?" "I was afraid of being accused of the murder, so I held my tongue." "More fool you. You might have saved us a deal of trouble had you been more open. As it is, I believe your story. You stole the notes, but you restored them; and I know you are innocent of the other crime. Well, sir, I won't execute this warrant so you can go back to your work on one condition." "What is it?" said Vass, anxiously. "That you hold your tongue." "Oh, I'll do that," said the secretary joyfully, and departed in all haste, glad to have got off so easily in that terrible interview. "Do you believe his story?" asked Darrel, when the door closed. "Every word of it," was Torry's prompt reply. "That creature hasn't the spirit of a rabbit. Catch him committing one murder, let alone two. Not he; I expect the poor devil has been in torture with this on his mind. No doubt he is glad I made him confess." "I don't like him; he's a sneak." "So he is, and a coward, sir; but," added Torry with emphasis, "he is not a murderer." After this conversation the detective went away to seek for more evidence, and Darrel remained to muse over all that had been obtained. In spite of all that was known, the case seemed as complicated as ever, and the mystery as deep. If Darrel had been writing this criminal matter as a fiction, his ingenuity would have suggested a fitting ending; but he could not see how Fate intended to work it out. Perhaps Fate designed to leave her matter-of-fact romance unfinished. Perplexed by the problem and the apparent impossibility of its solution, Frank left Fate to conclude her own story, and turned to continue one of his own. In a few moments he was oblivious to all but the words which were rapidly filling the paper before him under the influence of brain and hand. But it seemed that he was doomed to be interrupted. Just as he was warming to his work, Blake entered to make a morning call; and as there was no chance of writing while this rattle-pated Irishman was in the room, Darrel put away his papers with some vexation. "Well," said Blake, after the first greeting had passed, "how is the case getting on?" "We have found some new evidence," replied Darrel; "but none likely to please you." "Why not?" "Because it proves beyond all doubt that Miss Hargone sent Julia to that rendezvous."