He did not answer my question, but leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. To my surprise I saw the tears forcing themselves between his fingers. I hate to see a man cry, but on this occasion I was glad, for these tears showed that Striver had broken down. He was not cut out by nature for a villain, and now that I had thwarted his schemes he could contrive no new ones. He was beaten, and he knew that he was beaten. I felt quite sorry for him, badly as he had behaved. "Striver!" I placed my hand on his bowed shoulders. "Don't touch me," he said in a choking voice, and rising to his feet he walked rapidly to the end of the room, where there was an ottoman. Here he flung himself down at full length, sobbing bitterly. I followed, and waited until the paroxysm passed away. Then, finding him in a gentler mood, I hoped to get at the truth, which I felt convinced he knew. And indeed, seeing that he had been concealed in the house during the commission of the crime, he must know who had stabbed his aunt. Unless---- "Striver," I said sharply, "pull yourself together and answer me. Did you murder this unfortunate woman?" "No," he sobbed in a stifled voice, "I did not. I was hidden in the bedroom, and came down to find her dead. The rest, as to taking your car and escaping, I have told you." "What's to be done, then?" I muttered, much perplexed. "This is to be done," he said, sitting up, with his handsome face tear-stained and his hair dishevelled, "you have won and I have lost. I surrender all claim to the hand of Miss Monk." "You never had any claim," I reminded him sharply. "Perhaps not," was his dejected reply, "but I am a man and I cannot help my feelings. Gertrude is the only woman I have ever loved, and the only woman I shall ever love. She is lost to me, because she loves you. Well, I daresay it is better that she should marry a gentleman. But I wish--I wish----" He broke down again. "Striver," I said, for the third time, and placed my hand on his shoulder, "I am very sorry for you, although you have not acted well." "All is fair in love and war," he said, sitting up again. "There are some things a gentleman cannot do, even to win the woman he loves, Striver," I said gently, "so all is _not_ fair in love and war." "I am not a gentleman: I never pretended to be a gentleman." "Then be one now," I urged, "you know the truth of this murder since you were in the house all the time. I believe myself that you are innocent." "Why should you think that?" he asked in a curious voice and with a curious look. "Because I believe you to be a good fellow, Striver. Your nature has been warped by the influence of this mad love and by the influence of your dead aunt. She always promised you Miss Monk as a bride and this fifty thousand pounds for yourself." "Yes, she did," he said, his bright blue eyes steadily fixed on me.