Calton’s voice faltered¹ a little when he read those last sad words, and he laid the manuscript down on the table, amid a dead silence, which was first broken by Brian.

“Thank God,” he said, reverently², “thank God that he was innocent of the crime!”

“No,” said Calton, a little cynically³, “the riddle⁴ which has perplexed⁵ us so long is read, and the Sphinx is silent for evermore.”

“I knew he was incapable⁶ of such a thing,” cried Chinston, whom emotion had hitherto kept silent.

Meanwhile Kilsip listened to these eulogistic⁷ remarks on the dead man, and purred to himself, in a satisfied sort of way, like a cat who has caught a mouse.

“You see, sir,” he said, addressing the barrister, “I was right after all.”

“Yes,” answered Calton, frankly⁸, “I acknowledge my defeat, but now — ”

“I’m going to arrest Moreland right off,” said Kilsip.

There was a silence for a few moments, and then Calton spoke⁹ again.

“I suppose it must be so — poor girl — poor girl.”

“I’m very sorry for the young lady myself,” said the detective in his soft, low voice; “but you see I cannot let a dangerous criminal escape for a mere¹⁰ matter of sentiment.”

“Of course not,” said Fitzgerald, sharply. “Moreland must be arrested right off.”

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