"But all that was before the marriage. No woman would care if----" "Lady Jenny would. She is half Italian and of an extremely jealous disposition. She loved Malet--God only knows why--and had she found out the truth then she would have left him. But Malet told me where to find my brother's wife, and I held my tongue." "Did Lady Jenny ever learn this story?" "You shall hear. Robert found his wife and took her back. She was a complete wreck and terribly unhappy. They lived at Poplar under another name on the small income I could allow them. For years I saw very little of Robert. Then he took it into his head to pose as a prophet of evil, predicting woe to England. He assumed that snuff-colored coat and wore the crape scarf as a symbol of his mourning. He was frequently in trouble with the police, and several times I helped him out of his scrapes." "Why don't you shut him up again?" "Ah! my friend, how could I take the poor fellow from his dying wife? All those years she was bedridden and dying slowly. I could not part them. Latterly he used to come now and again to see me at Chippingholt, usually at night and in ordinary dress. On one occasion he arrived in the daytime and met Lady Jenny. He knew her by sight, and he told her the truth about his wife and her husband. That was a year ago. Lady Jenny was furious, and I believe she quarrelled with her husband. After that they were never the same to one another. She loved him once, but after that she must have hated him. Robert was foolish to have told her. It could do no good." "Well--what then?" "He went away, and for months I saw nothing of him. The next I heard was when Brenda told me Harold Burton had met a man like me with a crape scarf round his neck. From the description I recognized Robert, and knew that his mind must be more than ever unhinged for him to have come down in what he called his prophetic robes. I knew he would not come to see me till dusk, and I waited anxiously. But he did not appear, so I went out to look for him. It struck me that he might be lurking round the Manor gates to see Gilbert Malet, and perhaps to do him an injury. I searched for a long time, and was caught in the storm. Then I found Robert in the orchards and led him home. He told me his news." "What was his news?" "His wife was dead, and he had come to tell Malet." CHAPTER XIII. THE END OF THE STORY. "His wife was dead," repeated Van Zwieten, without showing much sympathy, "and he came down to tell you!" "No, he came to tell Malet." "And kill him?" Scarse shook his head. "I am telling you the truth," he said. "If Robert were guilty I should admit it. The poor fellow is crazy, as you know, and at the worst can only be put away in an asylum again. I am not afraid for him, but I fear a public scandal, which might shake my position and force me to resign my seat. No, Robert did not kill the man. But he met him and told him the truth." "About what hour was that?"