He glanced at her pain-drawn face, felt her pulse, and while he was doing so the heavy breathing stopped. "What is the matter?" asked the judge, bending forward; "is it a faint?" The doctor raised his head. "No, my Lord--it is death!" "Death!" echoed several voices, and the Court arose in confusion. "Yes--she has burst a blood vessel in the brain." Dead! Dead! Yes, Mrs. Verschoyle was dead--in the very moment of her triumph! CHAPTER XXVIII. A SCRAP OF PAPER. THE sudden death of Mrs. Verschoyle so appalled everyone, that the trial was adjourned. A great sensation was created when the report came out in the papers, and numerous were the theories as to how the trial would end, now the principal witness was dead. As a matter of fact, according to public opinion, the only thing that could prove the innocence of Vassalla, was the production of the letter written by the dead man, and alleged to have been stolen by Mrs. Verschoyle, and after the body had been removed, Ronald, in company with Foster and Vassalla's lawyer, went to look for it. "What shall we do if she has destroyed it?" said Ronald, as they walked along. "Oh, she hasn't destroyed it," replied Vassalla's lawyer, whose name was Winks; "she would have produced it at the eleventh hour." "Then you think such a paper is in existence?" said Foster. "I'm certain of it, and Mrs. Verschoyle knew the Marchese was innocent. She only accused him out of jealousy." "But why did he not deny the charge at once, instead of letting himself be placed in such a perilous position?" "I don't know," said Winks; "he never gave me any explanation. But he knew he was safe, for even should the paper not be forthcoming, the evidence of the deceased, that Vassalla had given him the dagger, would save him. If he hadn't the stiletto, he couldn't have killed him with it, that's flat." "But Verschoyle distinctly denied to me that he had any intention of committing suicide," said Ronald. Winks shrugged his shoulders. "Changed his mind, I suppose. He evidently did it on the spur of the moment. But here we are, at last." They went into the hotel, and were shown into the late Mrs. Verschoyle's room by the landlady, who had heard of her lodger's death, and was much scared thereat. "I knew she'd break a blood-vessel," she said, smoothing her black silk dress; "the rages she got into were awful. They won't bring the corpse here, I hope?" "No," replied Ronald, "it has been taken to Sir Mark Trevor's town house." "Didn't know he had one," said Foster; "he stops at the Langham." "Oh, yes; he dislikes his town house immensely, and being a student of human nature, likes the life of an hotel. I don't think he's far wrong, myself." They went to Mrs. Verschoyle's room and hunted everywhere for the paper so much required, but in vain. Ransacked her desk, looked through her trunks, but without any satisfactory result.