"No one. But I'm in danger of being accused. I am innocent--I swear I am innocent, Eustace?" "All right, old man," replied Jarman, patting his junior on the back. "I know you wouldn't come to me if you were guilty." "If I were, would you shelter me?" "H'm! Depends upon the kind of murder. I don't mind a fair fight sort o' killing. 'Fact, I've shot a man or two myself in the Great Waste Lands." "But I didn't shoot Starth. I really didn't." "Starth! What, is he--" "Dead! Dead! Shot dead. But not by me--not by me." Eustace chewed his pipe, and stared into the fire, pulling hard. He appeared to be worried. "Poor girl!" said he at length. Frank understood on the instant. "Does she love her brother?" "Do you know her?" asked Eustace, without looking up. Lancaster shook his head. "I saw her last night at the theatre. Her brother insulted me, and asked me to see him to-day, as he wanted to apologise--" "Wait!" Jarman threw up his hand. "The whole truth, if you please." "I'm telling the truth, if you will only listen." "Apologising doesn't sound like Starth," objected Eustace. "I thought so when I got his note, and I am convinced now that his invitation was a trap." "To have you shot?" "How do I know?" He was shot himself. "By whom?" "I can't say. I was lying in a stupor when it happened." "Drugged--with opium?" hinted Jarman. "Yes. Did you know that Starth--" "All along." Jarman placed the tips of his fingers together. "See here, Frank, I know Miss Starth very well. She lives here with an old lady called Mrs. Perth. Their cottage is only a stone's throw away from my diggings. I met the brother there in the long ago, and--" "And introduced him to me. I wish you hadn't." "It's too late now, seeing that the man's dead, to raise objections. I never approved of Walter Starth. A bad lot--a very bad lot. He never liked you. I don't know why. But I didn't think it would come to this." "Jarman"--Frank started from his seat--"you don't suppose--" "Sit down, you ass." Jarman pushed Lancaster back into his chair. "I wouldn't take things so quietly if you had killed him. Barring that, I'm glad the man's out of the world. He was no use in it." "My own words--my own words!" "When and where?" "At the Piccadilly Theatre last night. I shouted them in the bar after I knocked him down." "H'm! Shouldn't talk like that, Frank, it's foolish." "I know it is. I'm in a fix, that's why I come to you." "Well," said Eustace, refilling his briar, "the best thing you can do is to tell me everything from the start. "Where am I to start from. You know about Fairy Fan?" "Yes; and about Starth's love for her. He looked upon you as a rival, and the knowledge didn't increase his liking for you. Well?" Frank straightened himself, and forthwith delivered a succinct account of all that had taken place, from the encounter on the previous night to his leaving the house in Sand Lane, South Kensington.