"It is not a lie, and you know it. It is time to have done with this farce, Dr. Binjoy. I know who you are. I know all about your impersonation and disguise. I know why you called yourself Renshaw. I traced you to Plymouth and saw you disembark; I followed you to this place, and now I have you." Binjoy stared wildly for a moment at seeing his mask of lies fall away from him, and then sank back in his chair with a shiver, moaning and crying. "It is a lie, a lie," was all he could gasp. "It is not a lie," said a voice at the door, and Fanks turned to see Sir Louis. "It is not a lie," repeated the baronet. "Binjoy is Renshaw; he went up with me to town on the night of the twenty-first. If you want to know who killed my cousin, Mr. Fanks, there is the assassin." CHAPTER XXIX. DR. BINJOY PROTESTS. Silence ensued after this astounding statement had been made by Sir Louis, during which time Fanks narrowly observed the personality of the speaker. The baronet was a tall, and rather stout young man, with a round face, destitute of beard and moustache. He was shabbily dressed in an old tweed suit. He wore spectacles, and his shoulders were slightly bowed as from constant bending over a desk. His appearance was rather that of a studious German than that of a young Englishman, but Fanks, from this hasty observation, judged him to be of a sensible and reflective nature. Such a man would not make so terrible an accusation unless he was able to substantiate it on every point. Binjoy arose to refute the accusation of his quondam pupil. "That man," he said, pointing an unsteady hand at the baronet, "is lying. He hates me because I know his secrets. For their preservation he seeks to destroy me. But if I fall he falls also; if I am guilty he is doubly so. Let him speak and admit that our sin is mutual." "I admit nothing of the sort," retorted Sir Louis, coming forward. "You tell your story, and I shall tell mine. Mr. Fanks can judge between us." "You had better be careful, Louis," said Binjoy, with an attempt at bravado. "I hold you in the hollow of my hand." "We will see," said Fellenger, coldly. "Be seated, Mr. Fanks. Before you leave this room you shall hear my story, and decide as you think best. I refuse to be the accomplice of that man any longer." "Louis, I implore you." But Fellenger turned a deaf ear to the voice of the charmer, and sat down near Fanks, to whom he addressed himself. "For the sake of Binjoy I concealed the truth; out of pity for him I held my tongue; but when he strives to make me an accomplice in the crime, when he attempts to blackmail me by threatening to inform you of our doings on the night of the twenty-first of June, I prefer to forestall him, and let you know the worst of myself." "You were listening to our conversation, Sir Louis?" said Fanks.