"Stop cried Fane, his lips grey and his face drawn and white; am I to understand that you accuse me of being the husband of Mrs. Brand?"
"Yes, Mr. Brand, I do. Your name is Fane, but you called yourself Brand to marry Flora. Your first marriage is a real one, your second false. You are a bigamist and----"
"And a murderer. Why not say the word?"
"I do say it. You are the man who stabbed that poor woman when she was at the piano. You set the phonograph going so that the police might be deceived. The dagger you used was one left by me at Flora's by accident. She took it with her, poor soul, perhaps to kill you for having treated her so. Heaven only knows to what lengths her misery might not have carried her and----"
"Lies! Lies! All lies!" said Fane furiously. "I am not the man. I don't believe this cock-and-bull story. Julia Mason is my true wife."
"Julia Mason is Julia Mason still," said Arnold.
"No. I know nothing of your cousin. I dare you to prove that I am the husband of Flora Brand."
"I guess I can do that," said Tracey, stepping forward and producing a photograph from his pocket. "I remained in that Hampstead house, Mr. Brand-Fane, to search and see what I could find in order to set things square. I found an old photograph of Mrs. Brand. I went to the photographer's and learned that she had been taken at one time some years ago along with her husband. Here's the photograph, and you will see that you are the man."
Fane nervously snatched the photograph, and looked at it. There he was in the company of Flora Brand. With a groan he dropped the photograph, staggered to a chair, and covered his face. "It has come out at last," he groaned.