Lestrange moistened his dry lips, looked at Sophy, at Beauchamp, then suddenly shook off Alan's hold. "No, I don't deny it," he said in a loud, harsh voice. "You have been one too many for me. I am so poor as to be almost starving, so I don't care what becomes of me. Hang me if you like. I hate you, Beauchamp--I have always hated you, the more so when I found how much Zelia cared for you. And I loved her, though that was not the reason I killed her husband; for she was dead then, and could never be mine. But I killed him so that blame might rest on you. And I wanted the custody of the child, because I should have been able to handle the money. I found Achille senseless where you had knocked him down. I did not intend to do it; but I had a knife--and the devil put it into my head to stab him. Then you fled, and the murder was laid at your door." "And had you not done me harm enough, wretched man, without hunting me down?" said Beauchamp sternly. "I wanted money," he cried recklessly. "I saw your portrait in the paper, and I arranged with Barkham, who was as hard-up as I, that we should come to England and get some of your money. He played the traitor, and wrote you that letter--why, I don't know, as he stood to make as much as I did. But for that letter I should have found you alive, and I should have forced you to pay me. As it turned out, you escaped me." "And will you escape me, do you think?" asked Beauchamp with emphasis. "I don't know--I don't care. Call in the police and have me arrested if you like. I have played a bold game, and lost--do your worst!" He folded his arms, and stared defiantly at the man whose life he had ruined. Beauchamp looked irresolutely at him, then he turned to Sophy, who, pale and quiet, was clinging to her lover's arm. "The daughter of the man whose life you took shall be your judge," said the millionaire. "Sophy, is he to go free, or shall the law take its course?" "Let him go--let him go," murmured the girl. "His death shall not be upon my soul. Let him go and repent." "I agree with Sophy," said Alan Thorold. "Let him go." "And repent," finished Mr. Beauchamp. "Go, Jean Lestrange, and seek from an offended God the mercy you denied to me." Lestrange pulled himself together, and put on his hat with a would-be jaunty air. He tried to speak, but the words would not come, and he slunk out of the room like a beaten hound. And that was the last they ever saw of Jean Lestrange. CHAPTER XXIV. THE OTHER PART OF THE TRUTH Shortly afterwards Mr. Beauchamp returned to his lodgings as the Quiet Gentleman. Having been informed by Alan, on his way to the Moat House, that Lestrange was there with Sophy, he had taken off his false wig and beard to confound him; but now, in spite of the girl's protestations, he put them on again.