Up the narrow stairs Mallow sprang two at a time, reckless, and full of fierce courage. He was determined to face Hain, and wring the truth from him at all costs. Caution, wisdom, fear, all went to the four winds. The hot Irish fighting blood fizzled through his veins--burned in his cheek. Rash and unthinking, he dashed forward with a courage absolutely blind--the courage which wins or loses all. On the first landing he caught a glimpse of a tall figure. He heard the click of a turning door-knob. The next moment Mallow the hero, Mallow the fool, had flung open the door and stood on the threshold of Mrs. Arne's room. She was there, and near her stood the man Hain. "At last!" cried Mallow between his teeth. "At last I have got you."
"What does he mean?" demanded Madame, in her metallic voice.
"It means that I want Francis Hain for murder."
The tall man slipped back a pace. His voice quavered. "I am not Hain," he said, keeping a wary eye on Mallow.
"You liar!" Mallow sprang forward. "You are Hain the murderer. You and that woman--one of you--killed young Carson."
"Madman! Carson is alive in Italy."
"Carson is dead--murdered! You killed him. You are Hain."
"He is not Hain," said Mrs. Arne, simply.
"I am not Hain," repeated the man. Something in the tone of his voice sounded strangely familiar to Mallow.
"No, you are not Hain," said Mallow, throwing himself at the man's throat. "I know you now--you are Drabble"--his hand twitched away the light beard, and the doctor's clean-shaven face was revealed--"Drabble the murderer!"