"Two of you, we will say. But the third is guilty." Van Zwieten spoke slowly, looking at Brenda the while. "I found the pistol with which the murder was committed. It has a name on the butt. And the name is that of Harold Burton!"
The girl grew deathly pale and clasped her hands. "I do not believe it," she said bravely.
"Well," drawled Van Zwieten, throwing himself back, "I can prove it by showing you the pistol--it is at my rooms in Duke Street. If you choose to come there--with your father, of course--you can see it. Yes, you may look and look; but your husband and no other killed Malet."
"It is false. There was no reason why Harold should kill Mr. Malet."
"Oh, pardon me, I think he had a very good reason," corrected Van Zwieten, blandly; "at least Captain Burton thought it a sufficient reason when I told him what I knew at Chippingholt."
"Ah!" flashed out Mrs. Burton, "so this was what you told Harold to make him leave without saying good-bye to me!"
"It was. I showed him the pistol, and he admitted that it was his----"
"But not that he had used it!"
"You are very sharp, Mrs. Burton; but that is just what he did confess."
"I don't believe it!" cried the girl.