"I can't say! I don't even know how he died."
"He died," said I, "from a wound in the hand inflicted by a poisoned arrowhead which was taken from Bellin Hall."
"And who wounded him?" demanded Francis, turning pale.
"We'll find that out to-morrow," I answered, "from Rose Strent, alias Rose Gernon."
CHAPTER XIII.
[PERPLEXITY.]
After all, it is true that the unexpected always happens. In my unraveling of the Fen Inn mystery I never for a moment expected to find that Francis was alive. I was even ignorant that Felix had been to the inn on that night. He had ridden round the back way of the house, and, as my room was over the front door, I had not heard his arrival. Under these circumstances it was easy for me to make the mistake, and think the dead man was Francis, particularly as I was misled by the marvelous resemblance between the brothers, and, moreover, saw the pearl ring on the finger of the corpse. My mistake was a perfectly excusable one, and I had been confirmed in such erroneous belief by the adroit fashion in which Francis, for his own safety, kept up the deception.
Now I knew the truth, that Francis was alive and Felix dead, yet as regards the name of the man who had committed the crime I was still quite in the dark. Rose Gernon knew, but it was questionable whether she would confess, even to save her own skin. Either she or Strent was the guilty person, as none other was in the inn at that time. Strent had vanished, but no doubt she knew his whereabouts. The question was whether she would tell.
"Oh, she'll tell where he is, right enough," said Merrick, to whom I put this view of the matter, "especially if she is guilty herself."
"You don't think she is the criminal, Merrick?"