Charlton paused and wiped his forehead. He spoke quite calmly and collectedly, but the great drops stood on his face.
"I got home sooner than expected, got home in time to find my wife dead and that fatal letter in her hand. The woman who was the cause of all the mischief entered the room just too late to get the letter back. She was off her guard for the instant, and I saw it all in a flash. The part about the jewels I got later from one of the servants who had been afraid to speak before.
"I said nothing--for my dear wife's sake I was silent. You see I could prove nothing. No jury would have got anything out of the fiend who brought this about. The letter I carefully concealed. I took the risk of hanging, and as people blamed me my wife's good name was saved."
"I am afraid I don't follow your reasoning," Bruce said.
"I do," Lawrence observed. "At the time it was quite natural. But it seemed a pity to let that woman get off scot free."
A queer, hard smile came over Charlton's face.
"Nemesis is slow but sure," he said. "My turn will come. That letter is locked up in the safe yonder. Would you like to see it and compare it with my own ordinary handwriting? Oh, that was a wonderful woman!"
Charlton proceeded to open a safe in the wall and took from it two letters.
"There," he exclaimed. "That is the letter, the other sheet is my own handwriting. Did you ever see a more marvellous imitation? There are times when I feel as if I really must have written the letter myself. Look at it, Mr. Lawrence."
Lawrence had pounced upon it eagerly. His lithe little frame was thrilling with excitement. He held his head back as if sniffing at some pungent odour.