“The date of your return I learnt from Laumont himself,” explained Ernest, “for in the course of my inquiries immediately after the tragic affair I found that he was your associate, and in order to divert suspicion from himself he hinted at you as being the assassin.” “He denounced me, not knowing that I held this evidence of his guilt in my hand!” she cried, holding forth the finger with the curious-looking thimble upon it. “Poor M’sieur Thorne is, I fear, not the first victim who has fallen beneath the prick of this deadly instrument.” “To whom do you refer?” inquired the detective quickly. “To M’sieur Everton, the young Englishman, who was found dead one night a year ago in the Avenue des Acacias.” In an instant the man Laumont sprang at her with all the fury of a wild beast, and clutching at her throat tried to strangle her. His eyes were lit by the fierce fire of uncontrollable anger, his dark, bushy hair giving his white face a wild and hideous look, and for an instant, in the confusion before the detectives could throw themselves upon him, it seemed as though he would tear limb from limb the woman who had confessed. For a moment the detectives and the pair were mixed in a struggling mass, when suddenly a loud yell of pain escaped the wretched man, and releasing his hold he drew back, with his left hand clasped upon his wrist. He staggered, swayed unevenly, uttering fierce and terrible imprecations. “Dieu!” he gasped. “You--_you’ve killed me_!” What had happened was next instant plain. In the struggle the point of his dastardly invention, which was still upon the woman’s finger, had entered deeply the fleshy part of his wrist, injecting that poison that was so swift, and to which there was no known antidote. He staggered. Two detectives sprang forward to seize him, but ere they could do so he reeled, clutched the air, and fell heavily backward, overturning the small table beside which he had been standing. The scene which ensued was ghastly. I shall remember it through all my life. Five minutes later, however, the wretched man who had thus brought card-sharping and murder to a fine art had breathed his last in frightful agony, his ignominious career ended by his own diabolical invention. CHAPTER XXI CONTAINS THE CONCLUSION Need I dwell further upon the stirring events of that night? It is assuredly sufficient to say that the arrests made by the police numbered nearly forty persons, all of whom were charged with various offences, in addition to being found in an illicit gaming-house. Many of them, old offenders and desperate characters notwithstanding the fact that they were outwardly respectable members of society, in due course received long periods of imprisonment, but Julie Fournereau, in consideration of the information she had given regarding poor Reggie’s death, was dismissed with a fine of two thousand francs as owner of the house in question, and has since disappeared into obscurity.