"That I ordered him to be strangled?" finished Maunders calmly. "How can that be when Hokar was never near Dimsdale's bungalow in his life, and certainly, as I was with Miss Hest nearly all the evening, I could not have committed the murder myself." "That remains to be proved," rejoined Vernon, suppressing what Miss Hest had told him of the young man's movements on the fatal night. "And even presuming you are innocent of the actual crime, and that Hokar was not near the house, The Spider, who came to blackmail, must have learned from you the secret which he threatened to disclose." Maunders was silent for a moment. "You can't prove that I knew about this secret," he said doggedly. "Colonel Towton can swear that he heard it from Diabella, and I can prove that you are the fortune-teller. These facts only admit of one interpretation, Maunders. Either you are an accomplice of The Spider or you are The Spider himself." "It's a lie, it's an infernal lie," cried Maunders greatly agitated. "It's the truth, and you know it. Your face reveals the truth." "How can you tell that when we are nearly in darkness with this fog?" asked Maunders between his teeth. "I can see well enough, and the darkness is easily remedied. Colonel, will you please light the lamp while I keep an eye on our friend here." Maunders cursed his former schoolfellow ardently, while Towton quietly lighted the tall lamp which stood in the corner. The light soon glowed through a rosy shade, adorned in a tawdry manner with artificial flowers, and Vernon stepped up to Maunders. The scamp met his scrutiny unflinchingly, and displayed a courage worthy of a better cause. He was pale with apprehension, for he well knew, in spite of his bravado, that he was in a tight place. But the crimson hue of the light filtering through the shade threw a delicate glow on his finely-cut face. Facing the two gentlemen, who knew him past all denial to be a scoundrel, he looked as handsome a lad as ever stepped in shoe-leather. It seemed a terrible pity that so fair an outside should mask such internal evil. Something of this sort occurred to Vernon as he stepped back with a sigh. "I wish you were as decent a fellow as you look," he said in a regretful voice. "In heaven's name, Maunders, why can't you be an honest man? You have a handsome face, a fine figure, you have had the best education England can afford, and you hold a good position in the social world. Finally, your aunt, Mrs. Bedge, who adopted you as her son, loves you dearly, and if you have not sufficient self-respect to keep straight for your own sake you might behave like an honest gentleman for hers."