"Between eight and nine o'clock. Milly was in love with him, and as she was engaged to Herne, I was angry with Lovel. I went out to threaten him, but not to kill him, or her--no, no!"
"Where did you go?" asked Paul quickly.
"I don't know, I can't remember. I left this house with a pistol, and that is the last thing I can recall till I found myself at dawn in my own garden."
"There is red mud on your clothes," said Drek, "so you must have been in the Winding Lane, where the red mud is most plentiful."
"I might have been. What of that?"
"Simply this: the dead body of your daughter was found in the Winding Lane. She was shot through the head, and you went out with a pistol."
"O God!" Lester clasped his hands together in an angonised way. "Do you think I killed her?"
"I do," said Drek. "I firmly believe it--so much so that I intend to arrest you on the evidence."
Dr. Lester shook all over, made an attempt to speak, and fell fainting on the floor. In the minds of the three spectators there was no doubt of his guilt. He had gone out to kill Lovel; and by mistake, or mischance, he had killed his own daughter. The assassin of Milly Lester was her own father.