‘In the first place,’ he said, smoothly, ‘I acknowledge the truth of all your story except the latter part, and I must compliment you on the admirable way you have guessed the identity of Braulard with Vandeloup, as you have no proof to show that they are the same. But with regard to the death of Mademoiselle Sprotts, she died as you have said; but I, though the maker of the poison, did not administer it.’ ‘Who did, then?’ asked Gollipeck, who was quite prepared for this denial. Vandeloup smoothed his moustache, and looked at the doctor with a keen glance. ‘Kitty Marchurst,’ he said, coolly. The rain was beating wildly against the windows and someone in the room below was playing the eternal waltz, ‘One summer’s night in Munich’, while Vandeloup, leaning back in his chair, stared at Dr Gollipeck, who looked at him disbelievingly. ‘It’s not true,’ he said, harshly; ‘what reason had she to poison the woman Sprotts?’ ‘None at all,’ replied Vandeloup, blandly; ‘but she had to poison Mrs Villiers.’ ‘Go on,’ said Gollipeck, gruffly; ‘I’ve no doubt you will make up an admirable story.’ ‘So kind of you to compliment me,’ observed Vandeloup, lightly; ‘but in this instance I happen to tell the truth--Kitty Marchurst was my mistress.’ ‘It was you that ruined her, then?’ cried Gollipeck, pushing back his chair. Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders. ‘If you put it that way--yes,’ he answered, simply; ‘but she fell into my mouth like ripe fruit. Surely,’ with a sneer, ‘at your age you don’t believe in virtue?’ ‘Yes, I do,’ retorted Gollipeck, fiercely. ‘More fool you!’ replied Gaston, with a libertine look on his handsome face. ‘Balzac never said a truer word than that “a woman’s virtue is man’s greatest invention.” Well, we won’t discuss morality now. She came with me to Melbourne and lived as my mistress; then she wanted to marry me, and I refused. She had a bottle of the poison which I had made, and threatened to take it and kill herself. I prevented her, and then she left me, went on the stage, and afterwards meeting Madame Midas, went to live with her, and we renewed our acquaintance. On the night of this--well, murder, if you like to call it so--we were at a ball together. Mademoiselle Marchurst heard that I was going to marry Madame Midas. She asked me if it was true. I did not deny it; and she said she would sooner poison Mrs Villiers than see her married to me. She went home, and not knowing the dead woman was in bed with Madame Midas, poisoned the drink, and the consequences you know. As to this story of the hand, bah! it is a stage play, that is all!’ Dr Gollipeck rose and walked to and fro in the little clear space left among the disorder. ‘What a devil you are!’ he said, looking at Vandeloup admiringly. ‘What, because I did not poison this woman?’ he said, in a mocking tone. ‘Bah! you are less moral than I thought you were.’