"Drelincourt," he began at once, "you and I have not met for twenty years. I have called on you twice since your return, but both times was told you were not at home--a statement which, I tell you candidly, I did not credit. Today, however, I am more fortunate, and it is well I am so, seeing that I am the bearer of news which can scarcely fail to make even you--cold-blooded cynic though you always were--rejoice and feel glad. At last, Drelincourt, at last, and after all these years, the murder of my poor sister will be avenged." For the next few seconds his listeners might have been figures of wood or stone. They neither stirred nor spoke, but stood or sat in the particular position in which each of them had been arrested by Ormsby's ominous words. The silence was broken by Drelincourt's clear, level accents. "My dear Ormsby, you speak in enigmas." "Enigmas? Stuff! They are a sort of rubbish I never deal in; more in your line, by far. Man alive! I tell you we have got hold of the wretch, the double dyed villain who did the deed, and have laid him safely by the heels in Sunbridge jail. And, after all, Drelincourt, whom do you think the fellow turns out to be?" "Guessing riddles is not in my line." "Why, that scoundrel Gumley." "A--h!" It was more an indrawing of the breath than an exclamation. Never had Drelincourt's marvelous command over himself stood him in better stead. For a second or two there was a slight flickering of his eyelids, and that was all. "Yes, sir," resumed the other, "Gumley, the under gardener, the man who was arrested at the time on suspicion, but ultimately liberated. From the first I made no secret of my belief that he was the criminal. From that belief I have never swerved, and today facts have fully justified it." "May I inquire as to the nature of the facts in question?" "The most important of them is the fellow's own confession." There was a perceptible pause on Delincourt's part. Then "Gumley's own confession that----" Another pause. "That it was he who stole my sister's jewels." "So! And does his confession end there?" "It does. But surely no sane person can doubt that the hand which stole the jewels was guilty of the far graver crime!" "And yet there might be found people, whether sane or otherwise, to doubt the accuracy of such an assumption." A coldly malignant gleam shot from Ormsby's porcine eyes. "I have not forgotten, Drelincourt, how you stood up for the fellow twenty years ago. Had it not been for your evidence about the locket, in all probability he would have been convicted then. But stand up for him now, after his own confession! On my soul, Drelincourt, it almost looks as if you knew more about the affair than you choose to tell!" Mrs. Drelincourt let her soft cheek rest for a moment like a caress against her husband's hand, which was still grasping the back of her chair.