"My brother, I suppose?"
"Yes," replied Brenda. "It was Uncle Robert. He heard high words between the two and saw the struggle."
"That was when the crape scarf was torn?"
"Undoubtedly. Malet must have torn it and held it in his hand without thinking. Well, Wilfred saw Malet throw the other man to the ground just when the storm broke, and hurry away to get back to shelter in the Manor; but the storm was so violent that he took shelter instead under a tree. Wilfred crept up to him and waited, but it was so dark that he could not see him plainly enough to shoot straight, and he was, of course, unwilling to risk failure. Then a flash of lightning revealed Mr. Malet. Wilfred sprang forward and grasped him by the shoulder. He cried out. I heard him myself. I was only a short distance away. When the darkness closed down again, Wilfred put the muzzle of the revolver close to his head and blew his brains out. Then he ran away, and in the darkness tripped over a stump. The revolver flew out of his hand, and he lost it."
"Van Zwieten found it?"
"Yes. Wilfred was a good deal troubled about it, for he knew that Harold's name was on it, and he feared lest he should on that account be accused of the murder."
"As I was, indeed, said Harold.
"Yes, dear, I know; but not officially. If, for instance, you had been arrested on the charge, then Wilfred would have come forward and have told the whole story. As it was, he kept silence."
"And what did he do after he had killed Malet?" asked Mr. Scarse.
"He went back to the place where Lady Jenny had left him, and waited for some time in case she should return. You see, to exonerate himself he thought it well to keep up the fiction of the sprained ankle. Then, as Lady Jenny did not return, he went home, and gave out that his ankle was sprained."