“As you know, Mary Pinder was tried, sentenced to death, and her sentence commuted. In the prison her baby was born and taken in charge by a neighbour friend--though for some reason it was announced in the newspapers that the child of the ‘Hereford murderess’ had died. That, at any rate, satisfied Lady Moron, and she made no attempt to verify the story until she learnt by accident one day that Lois Reddle was the missing girl. How she discovered this I do not pretend to know--I am under the impression that one of her servants was connected with the Reddle family. “For years,” Mr. Shaddles went on, “I have been satisfied in my mind that William was married, and have been trying to find his wife. I saw him soon after he was dead, and there was a gold wedding ring on his little finger, which was not there when he was buried. I also believed that the child was alive, and sought her out. I found that she was working at an office in Leith, and brought her down to my own office so that she should be under my eye, and eventually engaged the cleverest detective I could find to protect her. I then discovered that Lady Moron had some inkling of her identity, and I confess I hesitated when her ladyship suggested that the girl should go to her house as secretary. It was only after consultation with Mr. Dorn that I agreed. I had notified my suspicions to the Home Office, and a special service officer, Sergeant Braime, had been planted in her household to make enquiries, and to discover if she had been foolish enough to preserve the suicide’s letter.” He paused. “I think that is all.” “An excellent story,” said Lady Moron, “and in confirmation----” She took something from her bag and threw it on the floor. Dorn stooped and picked up the key and the letter, gave one quick glance at its contents, and handed it to the lawyer. “And now I have something else to say.” There was a dreadful silence. The pistol was in her hand, and the safety-catch had been lowered. “Most people in my position would commit suicide. But it will be very poor satisfaction to me to go out of the world and leave my enemies to triumph. I have a son--of sorts.” She smiled across the room to Selwyn, and he met her gaze steadily. “I should not care to leave him behind. Nor this wretched shop-girl”--her eyes sought Lois Reddle’s, and instantly her mother was by her side, her frail body interposed between the woman and her vengeance. “That is all,” said her ladyship. And then Selwyn saw a look of horror come into his mother’s face. She was staring at the doorway. Little Mackenzie, a tray in his hand, had not seen the new visitor and he put down the tray with a chuckle. “It’s a curious thing----” he said. And then he saw the woman with the pistol. “Martha!” “My God!” she moaned. “I thought you were dead!” The room was very quiet.