"Angelo had George before him in his studio while painting this picture: of that I am certain. But how came George to be there? He would never of his own free will consent to pose as an artist's model--of that, too, I am certain. Besides, if it were so, Angelo would have nothing to fear from our discovering the fact; but that he does fear our discovering it is manifest by his behaviour. It's quite clear that something suspicious has attended the production of this picture. There's only one conclusion left as far as I can see. George, on account of his fine athletic figure, was inveigled into Angelo's studio; and, in order to produce a state requisite for the artist's conception, he was compelled to drink some drug which subdued his natural powers, and gave him every appearance of death. And since Angelo could never by his own strength overpower George, it is clear he must have had others to help him in this plot. That silver-haired old man, Matteo Carito, may have been one; and perhaps that mysterious veiled lady was another. "But what happened after the picture was finished? George would never permit himself to be quietly and contemptuously dismissed from the studio without making the affair public, or seeking redress. Nor would Angelo be such a fool as to permit George to go forth to the world, proclaiming the ignominious treatment he had received. Ah, I have it! That drug must have so disordered his senses as to leave him without intellect and without memory of the past. Angelo would have no difficulty in removing him in that state to Rivoli, and detaining him there--a harmless lunatic--in his old nurse's cottage. What cared he so long as his rival in love was out of the way, and his fame as an artist established? Yes, yes; I see it all now. "'In some secluded part of Europe I shall live out my days a lonely recluse.' That letter was a forgery of Angelo's. The damnable villain! I now understand his words to Daphne when parting from her at Rivoli: 'You are nearer to him now than you have been for months.' Of course she was. George was living, a sort of prisoner, at Rivoli. He must have contrived to escape from his place of captivity that very day; and, perhaps with some faint glimmering of reason left, he determined to have vengeance on all who had taken part in the plot against him. That is why he hurled the old man over the cliff. He was mad, quite mad, there can be no doubt, and that is why he took no notice of Daphne when he saw her by the haunted spring." As I thought of the old man's awful death I muttered, "It will not be well for Angelo if George should find him out." Scarcely had this idea occurred to me when I recalled the butler's stories of the wild face he had seen staring through the casement in the dusk of evening, a face like that in the picture; of the figure in the grey cloak, and of the terrible cry of the previous night--a "death-cry" the butler had called it.