"It is. You want to save your neck. Hang it man, confess, and die like a man. You killed this poor woman to rid yourself of her."
"No! I didn't. I swear I didn't. Oh, why won't you believe me?"
"You are such a liar," said Tracey. "But I don't want to be hard on you. Take a drink of brandy. It will pull you together. Calvert, with your permission----"
The American went to the side-board and filled a glass. While he was thus occupied, Calvert touched the man on the shoulder. Fane, who had again sunk into the chair, trembling and white, looked up. "Take the brandy," said Calvert quietly, "and then tell us your story. Until I am absolutely convinced of your guilt, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."
"Oh bless you--bless you!" Fane seized Arnold's hand, and tried to kiss it, but the young man drew it away, with an ejaculation of disgust, and wiped it.
"Be a man," he said angrily. "If you had nerve enough to kill poor Flora in that brutal manner, surely you can face the result."
"I didn't kill her, I tell you," cried Fane in an hysterical manner. "I am as innocent as you are. Give me the brandy--give--ah!"
He had it to his lips by this time, and drained the glass of neat spirits at a draught. Then he coughed, placed the glass on the table, and sat down. The spirit give him the courage he lacked, and after a few moments he looked up, more composed.
"Sit down, Calvert, and you, Mr. Tracey. I'm going to make a clean breast of it. But you will not find me so bad as you think."
"Whatever you may say, the case is bad enough," growled Tracey, and took a seat. Calvert did the same, and both pair of eyes were turned expectantly on the culprit. Fane began in a hurry, as though he was afraid lest the effect of the spirit should die out, and leave him powerless to finish his gruesome recital.