"Ah, yes, but she did. I say you wish to see her the next day. She say, 'I will tell him nothing, and now go, for I have to see a great gentlemans.' I was quite happy." "Did she not miss the confession?" "No! I said nothing of wanting that. It was in my pocket. The blue envelope was on the table. She never thought but what it was within, Then she ask me to say nothing to any one about San Remo, and we part quite happy. She allowed me out of the door, and closed it again, oh, so softly. I saw her no more." "You left the dagger behind?" "It was on the floors where I threw it. I wished to get away with the confessions, lest she should call me thieves. I did not wait for to take the dagger. I departed. That is all." "Humph!" said George. The story seemed likely enough. After letting Lola out of the house, Mrs. Jersey then came to see if he and Train were in bed. Expecting Lord Derrington, and knowing from Lola who he was, she no doubt expected George to interrupt the interview. But finding him--as she thought in bed--she departed satisfied. Then she met Margery, and after locking her in her room, went down to meet her death. It was eleven when all this happened, and Bawdsey in the coat of Lord Derrington arrived close upon twelve. Therefore, as Lola left Mrs. Jersey alive and Bawdsey found her dead, she must have been killed in the interval, and whomsoever had done this had used the dagger left by Lola. However, George had learned all he wished to know in the mean time, and it only remained to get the confession from Lola. She refused to give it up. George entreated, cajoled, stormed, insisted, she still held out. "No, I will not, I will not," she kept saying. Finally he hit on a solution of the difficulty. "If you do not give it to me it will be taken from you when you go to prison." "Ah, but will it?" cried Lola, wide-eyed with alarm. "Certainly, and will probably be published in the papers. Keep it if you like, Lola, but don't blame me if you get into trouble over it. I assure you if you keep it they will take it." Lola pulled a white packet from her breast, and ran with it to the fire. "They will not have it. I burn--I burn," and she threw the papers on the fire. George shot past her, snatched them out before they could catch alight, and thrust them into his pocket. Lola turned on him like a tigress, and he thought she would strike him. She seemed inclined to do so. Then unexpectedly she threw up her arms and fell into a chair weeping. "It is the end--you love me no more--we part--we part. The confessions will part us, all--all, alas!" CHAPTER XXI THE CONFESSION OF A JEALOUS WOMAN