"Yes," said Prelice slowly, and with a sigh. "Jadby tried to kill that poor woman, who loved him too well, and Brisson shot him. I shot Brisson when he tried to run down the boat in which Ned was following, and into which he had pulled Madame Marie. I wish I had killed Brisson, but unfortunately I only winged him," ended Prelice regretfully. "I daresay he's all right now, and sailing for the Southern Cross. Oh, my dear, dear angel!" he cried, gathering Mona into his arms, "what an escape." "Let us thank God, darling," she said reverently; and they both did with full hearts. It was a very excellent beginning to the new life. CHAPTER XXVI. A CONFESSION. That afternoon Prelice was up and dressed, and seated in the drawing-room, talking earnestly to Martaban and Ned Shepworth. His head was perfectly clear, although still a trifle sore, and he wore a picturesque bandage round it, which added to his pale and interesting looks. But the colour was gradually creeping back to his cheeks, and he was well enough to hear further what had taken place since he had been rendered unconscious. Shepworth was lounging in the window-seat under one of the painted windows, and it might have been the rosy light which came through this which made him look so happy and healthy. On the other hand, it might have been the consciousness that fate had opened the way to his marrying the woman he loved, and who loved him. He could not find it in his heart to regret Rover's timely death. The man had always behaved badly to his wife, and had done his best to make her life a martyrdom. Now, poor victim of a family sacrifice, she would have a chance of being happy for the rest of her life. Mr. Martaban, seated at the table with a few sheets of foolscap before him, also looked happy. And no wonder. His beloved client, Miss Mona Chent, had inherited the lovely old house and ten thousand a year, and shortly was to become Lady Prelice. A great change this from the time, not so long ago, when she had stood in the New Bailey dock accused of murder. And again, the sheets of foolscap with which the lawyer fiddled contained a confession by Madame Marie Eppingrave which entirely cleansed the name of Miss Chent from the stain of crime. "This is not the original document," explained the delighted Mr. Martaban to the anxious Lord Prelice. "Inspector Bruge has the original, which was signed by Marie Eppingrave in his presence." "How did she come to make the confession?" "I think it was because Captain Jadby was dead," put in Shepworth from his end of the room. "She held up, until it was proved beyond all doubt that he had been shot through the heart. Then--I suppose--she saw that life was not worth living without him, and so decided to put an end to herself." "How did she manage it, seeing that she was in custody?"