"What truth?"
"That Eva's dream was true; that her father was lying dead by the spring of the Red Deeps."
Mrs. Hill looked still more searchingly at him. "You saw that?"
"I did--in the twilight. I reached there before it grew very dark. I found the body, and, as in Eva's dream, I recognised it by the gloved right hand----"
"The wooden hand," moaned Mrs. Hill, rocking herself. "Oh, heavens!"
"Yes! The whiteness of the glove caught my eyes. From what Eva had told me, I had no need to guess who was the dead man. The wooden hand explained all. The corpse was that of Strode, shot through the heart."
"But there was a slight flesh wound on the arm, remember," said Mrs. Hill.
"I know, but I did not notice that at the time," said Allen quickly. "At first, mother, I intended to give the alarm, and I was hurrying back to Wargrove to tell Wasp and Jackson, when I caught sight of a revolver lying in the mud. I took it up--there was a name on the silver plate on the butt. It was----" Allen sank his voice still lower. "It was my own name."
"The revolver was yours?"
"Yes. I brought it with me from South America, and kept it in my portmanteau, since a weapon is not needed in England. But one day I took it out to shoot some birds and left it in this library. I never thought about it again, or I should have put it away. The next sight I got of it was in the Red Deeps, and I thought----"