"Easily enough," he said placidly. He could not understand why she made all this fuss. "Two years ago I met him at Monte Carlo. I watched him gamble and lose. I heard he was in the War Office, or had some connection with it, so I made his acquaintance and induced him to play still higher. We became intimate enough to discuss money matters--his, of course--and he told me that he was very hard up. He blamed you." "I dare say," returned Lady Jenny, coldly. "Go on." "Well, I put the matter to him delicately. I asked him to find out certain details connected with your military organization, and I told him he would be well paid for the information. I am bound to say he kicked at first, but I went on tempting him with bigger sums; and he was so desperately hard up that he closed with me in the end. He soon did all I wanted, and, once in my power, I trained him to be most useful, but I kept on paying him well--oh, yes, I paid him very well." He made this villainous confession in so cool a tone that Lady Jenny could have struck him. It was horrible to think that she had been the wife of so degraded a creature as Van Zwieten now described her husband to have been, and, "Thank God he is dead!" she cried again. "It would have been worse for both of us if I had known it while he was alive. It might have been I, then, who would have fired the shot. But after all, I suppose it was better that he should fall by your hand!" The Dutchman started from his seat. "I am a spy, Lady Jenny," he cried, "but I am not a murderer. I leave that sort of thing to you!" "To me? Do you accuse me of the murder of my husband?" "I do. Captain Burton, while staying at your house at Chippingholt, left his revolvers behind. You found them; you took one and stole out after your husband and shot him. I found the weapon. Do you take me for a fool? Where were you when you pretended to go to the Rectory?--out in the orchards tracking your husband! You killed him because he was in love with Mrs. Scarse. Deny it if you can!" "I do deny it. It was all over between him and Mrs. Scarse before he married me. He cared so little for the poor woman that he did not go to her when she was dying. That madman, her husband, came down to tell Gilbert of her death. They met and had a struggle. I thought it was he who had killed him; and indeed, if he had, I should not have blamed him. As it was, you were the man--you, who wanted to get rid of your tool!" Van Zwieten threw himself back in his chair with a laugh. "You talk nonsense," he said roughly. "Why should I want to get rid of a man who was useful to me? No one was more sorry than I when poor Malet died. Not from any sentimental point of view--oh, dear no!--but because he had become quite a necessary person to me. I found the revolver in the grass, but it was not I who had used it. If I had," he added cynically, "I should have no hesitation in telling you."