"Yes, I did," said the detective, "and why not? I desired to know if Mrs. Jersey said anything about the San Remo crime in it." "I can tell you that. She did. I have the confession." Bawdsey bounded from his chair. "Where is it?" he asked. "In my rooms, locked away." "I do call that a shame," grumbled Bawdsey. "You might have trusted me, Mr. Brendon?" "Might I? Would you have trusted me?" "I do; you know I do." "To such an extent as suits yourself. But would you have shown me that confession had it come into your possession?" "You are not showing it to me," said Bawdsey, evasively. "That is not an answer. But I'll show you the confession whenever you like. Come, now, would you have shown it to me?" "Since you have read it, why ask me that question?" snapped the detective. "You know----" "Yes, I know that you would have burnt the confession. I know that to have a paper in existence which sets forth that Mr. Bawdsey's true name is George Rates is not to your liking." "I never did anything to disgrace that name, Mr. Brendon." "That is between yourself and your conscience," replied George, coolly, "and has nothing to do with me. You are George Rates?" Bawdsey shrugged his shoulders. "There is no use denying it," he said; "you have my wife's handwriting." "Was Mrs. Jersey really your wife?" "She was. We married soon after we left San Remo. She was hard up or she would not have married me." "And you went to the States?" "We did. There I took the name of Jersey, and tried a variety of things, none of which came to any good. Then I left Eliza." "Why did you do that?" "Because she was a devil," said Bawdsey, his face lighting up. "I tried all the means in my power to make her happy, but she was always quarreling and nagging, and lamenting that she had not married that Vane--your father, Mr. Brendon." "Did she tell you about the murder?" "It wasn't a murder," protested Bawdsey. "No, she did not tell me, but from a hint or two she dropped about getting money from Mr. Ireland I guessed that he had something to do with it. I came across to England and I saw him. He told me the whole story." "Did you get money from him?" "I did not. I am an honest man, although you do not seem to think so. I left all that blackmailing to my wife. She came over to get money out of Ireland. He simply said that he would tell the whole truth and would call the woman Velez as a witness about the dagger." "But that woman is dead?" "Oh, no, she isn't," said Bawdsey, coolly. "Lola told me that she was alive and still in San Remo. She could have made things very hot for my wife. But failing Ireland, my wife--Mrs. Jersey we will call her--had another string to her bow. She heard how Lord Derrington denied the marriage, and how you were living with your grandfather Lockwood. She went to Derrington and----" "I know the rest. And you came to live in this house."