Zyp looked up at me. Her eyes were swimming in tears. “I suppose a better woman would leave such a husband,” she said, with a pitiful sigh, “but I think of the little baby, Renny.” “A true woman, dear, would remain with him, as you will in his dark hour. That is coming now; that is what I want to warn you about in all terrible earnestness. Zyp, this fierce man I told you about came here this morning to kill your husband. I was in time to keep him back, but that was only once. A promise was forced from him that he would do nothing more until the inquest is over. That promise, unless he is dreadfully tempted, he will keep, I am sure. But afterward Jason won’t be safe for an hour. You must get him to leave here at once, Zyp.” She had risen and was staring at me with frightened eyes. I could not help but act upon her terror. “Don’t delay. Move now--this day, if possible, and go secretly and hide yourselves where he can’t find you. I don’t think Jason will be wanted at the inquest. In any case he mustn’t be found. I say this with all the earnestness I am capable of. I know the man and his nature, and the hideous wrong he has suffered.” I wrote down my address and gave it to her. “Remember,” I said, “if you ever want me to seek me there. But come quietly and excite the least observation you can.” Then gently I lifted the flannel from the tiny waxen face lying on her arm, and, kissing the pink lips for her mother’s sake, walked steadily from the room and shut the door behind me. As I gained the hall, Jason, returning, let himself in by the front door. He looked nervous and flustered. For all his bravado he had found, I suppose, a very brief ordeal of the streets sufficient. “I should like a word with you,” I said, “before I go.” “Well,” he answered, “the atmosphere seems all mystery and righteousness. Come in here.” He preceded me into the front room and closed the door upon us. Then I looked him full in the face. “Who killed Modred?” I said. He gave a great start; then a laugh. “You’re the one to answer that,” he said. “You lie, as you always do. My eyes have been opened at last--at last, do you hear? Modred was never drowned. He recovered and was killed by other means during the night.” His affectation of merriment stopped, cut through at a blow. A curious spasm twitched his face. “Well,” he muttered, looking down, away from me, “that may be true and you none the less guilty.” “A hateful answer and quite worthy of you,” I said, quietly. “Nevertheless, you know it, as well as I do, to be a brutal falsehood.” I seized him by the shoulder and forced him to lift his hangdog face. “My God!” I whispered, awfully, “I believe you killed him yourself.”