“I must explain,” said old Mr. Keppel, addressing her. “It is only right that you should now know the truth. On the night in question you were unusually restless, and becoming seized by a fit of hysteria commenced to shout and shriek all sorts of wild words regarding your poor son’s murder. Now I had concealed you there, and fearing lest some of the guests should hear you and that a scandal might be created, I tried to silence you. You fought me tooth and nail, for I verily believe that the close confinement had driven you insane. In the struggle I had my hands over your mouth and afterwards pressed your throat in order to prevent your hysterical shrieks, when suddenly I saw blood upon your lips, and the awful truth dawned upon me that I had killed you by strangulation. Tewson, the chief steward,--who in addition to Cameron was the only person on board who knew of your presence,--entering at that moment, made the diabolical suggestion that in order to get rid of the evidence of my crime I should allow him to blow up the ship. This I refused, and fortunately an hour later we succeeded in restoring you to consciousness. Then we landed at Leghorn on the following evening, not, however, before I discovered that the real motive of Tewson’s suggestion was that he had stolen three thousand pounds in cash, notes, and securities from a despatch-box in Lord Stoneborough’s cabin, and wished to destroy the ship so that his crime might remain concealed. The man, I have discovered, has a very bad record, and he has now disappeared.” Then briefly I explained what I had seen and overheard on that wild, boisterous night in the Mediterranean; how I had followed the millionaire and the woman who was bent upon avenging the murder of her son; how I had sent the yacht to Genoa, and how carefully I had watched the movements of all three during those two never-to-be-forgotten days in Paris. All seemed amazed at my story, Ernest most of all. “During that night in the wagon-lit,” I said, addressing Mrs. Thorne, “I noticed two curious marks upon your neck. Upon your poor son’s neck were similar marks.” “Yes,” she replied, “they were birth-marks--known as the marks of thumb and finger. Poor Reggie bore them exactly as I do.” And she also explained how, having recognized me as a fellow-guest on board the Vispera, she had purposely endeavored to mislead me by her conversation, as she feared that my suspicion of Ernest might upset their plans. “And the woman who murdered poor Reggie, and who so ingeniously attempted first to fasten the guilt upon Miss Rosselli, and afterwards upon myself, is there!” cried Ernest, pointing at the trembling, white-faced figure before us. “She killed him because she feared the revelations he could make to the police regarding this place in which we are standing.”