But she was not dead. God help him yet to mend a deed so foul and inhuman! He rose—hope was to the swift. As he turned to go he saw leaning against the wall a spade and mattock, and he shuddered in the knowledge of their purpose.
It was with a face as set as stone that he came hurrying into the little room above.
“He has shot her,” he said. “She is lying in the cellar—but she still breathes. Look to him there while I run for a doctor.”
He was gone before the officer could speak. But, at his words, the abject figure in the chair had ceased to moan and writhe. It sat up; it made an attempt with its damp manacled hands to repoint the little red spurs on its lip; it spoke even in a thick unsteady voice:—
“I’ll make you all pay hell for this. It’s a plot to rob me. She shot herself—she did on my living oath. What have you done with my rose-ring?”
The detective exerted some cool pressure.
“It’s my duty to warn you, Lightfoot,” he said, “that I’ve a warrant for your arrest in my pocket, and that whatever you say now will be used as evidence before the magistrate.”
III.
“Of course it is an acquired taste,” said Gilead. “All education is acquired. Do you like olives?”
“No, I can’t bear them,” said Miss Halifax, making a face over the unexpected question.