'Why was I brought here?' I asked again.
He made no reply, and weak and shaken as I was, I sat up and reiterated my question.
'You are charged with the murder of Carlo Grammont.'
'Charles Grammont? Murder?' I repeated.
'Would you wish to see a doctor or an avvocato?'
I could only moan in answer.
'Charles Grammont murdered! Oh, my poor Cecilia! My angel and my love!'
For the face of the man in the lane was the face of Arthur Clyde, and the moonlight had shown to me, oh! too, too clearly, the blood that smeared his brow.