"Quite true," he replied. "I went to bed early with a bad headache."
"It was not you I met at the inn last night, but your brother Francis."
"How can you persist in so foolish a story?" said Olivia angrily. "This is Francis, and Felix is in Paris. You could not have met either of them at the Fen Inn last night, and, indeed, I can't believe that you slept there at all!"
"I did, Miss Bellin, and there I met Francis."
"If you did, where is he now? Why not clear up the mystery by bringing him here with you?"
"Because he is dead!"
"Dead!" she echoed, catching the arm of Felix. "Dead! Who is dead?"
"Francis Briarfield."
"He is mad," she said to Felix in a low tone, her face white with fear.
"Upon my word, I am beginning to think so myself," I said, losing my temper; "but I declare on my oath that I speak the truth. There is only one way of solving the riddle. Come out with me to the Fen Inn, and look on the face of the dead man I say is Francis Briarfield. A single glance will give the lie to the assertion of this man who pretends to be your lover!"