"Oh, yes, I shall. As to your accusation about my having cheated, you shall say nothing about that." "Indeed, I shall do so if you trouble Brendon." "Think of Dorothy." "I do think of Dorothy, and I'm very sorry she has such a mother." "You dare to insult me," began Mrs. Ward, when Derrington, who was losing patience, cut her short. "I've had enough of this," he said sharply. "You shall hold your tongue about Brendon or I'll tell what I know." "Then I'll do the same." Derrington bowed politely. "By all means," he said. "My reputation is already so bad that a word or two from you can scarcely make it worse." "Oh, it's more than that," said Mrs. Ward, quietly, and she spoke in so positive a manner that Derrington began to recollect his worst sins. "Do you remember the night you came home here at one o'clock and found me in this very room?" "Yes. You came with the amiable intention of telling me that George Brendon was going to pass the night at Mrs. Jersey's, and that you suspected that he was up to mischief." "I took the trouble to come from a party for that very purpose," was Mrs. Ward's plaintive reply, "and how was I received?" "I told you to mind your own business, if I remember." "And you swore at me," said the little woman; "as if a man who calls himself a gentleman----" "Mrs. Ward, I am getting tired of this circumlocution. What is it you have to say?" "Well, on that night you were in a fir coat." "My usual coat in winter." "It was the night when Mrs. Jersey was killed." "Was it, indeed? I never noticed the coincidence." "No. But you knew about it," said Mrs. Ward; "you threw your coat on yonder sofa. I seated myself near it by chance. There was something hard in the pocket of the coat. When you were out of the room I took the something out. There it is," and she laid an Italian stiletto on the table. "What is that?" asked Derrington, calmly, but with an anxious face. "That," said Mrs. Ward, touching it daintily with her finger, "is the weapon with which Mrs. Jersey was stabbed." CHAPTER XV A RECOGNITION If Mrs. Ward expected to startle Derrington into a confession she was never more mistaken in her calculations. Lord Derrington had not moved in diplomatic circles all his life without knowing how to guard against the display of emotion. With an utterly expressionless face he looked at the stiletto. It was a slender steel blade with a silver handle of Renaissance workmanship, evidently a valuable and curious relic of the Middle Ages. It might have been made by Cellini himself and have been worn by Cesare Borgia. But Derrington stared at it as though he knew nothing about it. "Well," said Mrs. Ward, sharply, and rather disappointed he did not grovel on the instant, "what do you say?" Derrington looked at her in rather a humorous manner. "What do you want me to say?" he asked. "Confess that I killed Mrs. Jersey and then brought this weapon carefully home in my pocket for you to discover and use against me?"