Mr. Mask looked doubtful. "I don't know whether he'll hear reason," he said, after a pause. "However, what you tell me will go no further."
"Well then, Mr. Mask, I know why my father is afraid."
"It's more than I do. Why is he afraid?"
"Because he thinks he may be arrested for the murder of Strode."
Mask pushed back his chair and rose quickly. It was not an easy matter to astonish a man, who, in that very room, had heard tales worthy of the Arabian Nights., but Allen had certainly managed to do so. "Do you mean to say he killed Strode?" he asked.
"No. But he thinks he did."
"How can that be?"
Allen related the episode of the pistol, and how he found that the bullet which killed Strode would not fit the barrel. "So you see my father thought he had killed him, and when this cross was sent----"
"What cross?" asked Mask, looking up quickly.
"I forgot. I thought you knew." And Allen related everything in detail. Mask heard the story with his chin on his hand, and in silence. Even when in full possession of the facts he did not speak. Allen grew impatient. "What do you think?"