"He wasn't good to me," said Ruth, quietly, "nor was I ungrateful. Randolph Schuyler spoiled my life; he denied me everything I asked for, every innocent pleasure and amusement. So, I found them for myself. I did nothing wrong. As Victoria Van Allen I had friends and pleasures that suited my age and my love of life, but there never was anything wrong or guilty in my house---" "Until you killed your husband!" interrupted Sarah. "Until the night of Randolph Schuyler's appearance at Vicky Van's house," Ruth went on. "I had been told of a Mr. Somers who wanted to know me, but I had no idea it was my husband masquerading under a false name. He came there with Mr. Steele. Of course, I recognized him, but he did not know me at once. I sat, playing bridge, and wondering how I could best make my escape. I saw that he didn't know me and then, suddenly as I sat, holding my cards, and he stood beside me, he noticed a tiny scar on my shoulder. He made that scar himself, one night, when he hit me with a hot curling iron." "What!" I cried, unable to repress an exclamation of horror. "Yes, I was curling my hair with the tongs and he became angry at me for some trivial reason, as he often did, and he snatched up the iron and hit my shoulder. It made a deep burn and he was very sorry. "Whenever he saw it afterward he said, 'Never again!' meaning he would never strike me again. Then, when he noticed the scar that night, although I had put on a light scarf to cover it, he said 'Never again!' in that peculiar intonation, and I knew then that he knew Victoria Van Allen was his own wife. "I ran out to the dining-room and he followed me." "And you stabbed him!" cried Rhoda; "stabbed your husband! Murderess!" "I don't deny it," said Ruth, slowly. "The jury must decide that. I must be tried, I suppose--" "Don't, Ruth!" I cried, in agony. "Don't talk like that! You shall not be tried! You didn't kill Schuyler! If you did it was in self-defence. Wasn't it? Didn't he try to kill you?" "Yes, he did. He snatched the little carver from the sideboard and attacked me,--and I--and I--" "Don't say it, Ruth--keep still!" I ordered, beside myself with my whirling thoughts. The little carving-knife! "And you defended yourself with the caterer's knife--" began Stone, but Fibsy wailed, "No! No! It wasn't Mrs. Schuyler! I've got the prints from the caterer's knife and they ain't Mrs. Schuyler's at all! She didn't kill him!" "No, she didn't!" and Tibbetts appeared in the library doorway. "I did it myself." "That's right!" and Fibsy's eyes gleamed satisfaction; "she did! It's her fingermarks on the knife that stabbed old Schuyler. They're plain as print! Nobody thought of matching up those marks with Tibbetts's mitt! But I'll bet she did it to save Mrs. Schuyler's life!" "I did," and Tibbetts came into the room and stood facing us. "Tell your story," said Stone, abruptly, as he looked at the white-faced woman.