"On the night of the murder I was at the ball three miles off. I knew nothing of the matter till I was called upon to identify the corpse of your father. It was hardly recognizable, and the face was much disfigured, but I recognized him by the color of his hair and the seal on his finger."
"How was it that my father was dressed as Darnley?"
"John Parver explains that," said Hilliston sharply. "Jeringham—I forget his name in the novel—was dressed as Darnley, and I believe, as is set forth in the book, that George Larcher assumed the dress so that under his mask your mother might mistake him for Jeringham. Evidently she did so, as he learned that she loved Jeringham——"
"One moment," interposed Claude quickly, "my mother denies that Jeringham was her lover."
"Your mother?"
"Mrs. Bezel."
"True; I forgot for the moment that you knew she was alive. No doubt she is right; and Jeringham was only her friend. But in the novel he is her lover; Michael Dene, drawn from myself, is her lover. You see fact and fiction are so mixed up that there is no getting at the truth."
"I shall get at the truth," said Claude quietly.
"Never. After such a lapse of time you can discover nothing. Better let the dead past bury its dead. I advised you before. I advise you now. You will only torture your life, cumber it with a useless task. George Larcher is dead and buried, and dust by this time. No one knows who killed him, no one ever shall know."
"I am determined to learn the truth!"