Douglas at once stepped across to where Ben was standing, and looked him full in the eyes.
"Is it necessary for me to explain?" he asked. "Surely you have not forgotten what you did at Long Wharf in the city?"
"Do! What did I do?" Ben gasped, while his face turned a sickly hue.
"You pushed Jean Benton over the wharf into the harbour and left her to drown; that is what you did."
Douglas spoke slowly and impressively, and each word fell like a deadly blow upon the man before him. His face, pale a minute before, was now like death. He tried to speak but the words rattled in his throat. He grasped the side of the car for support, and then made an effort to recover his composure. The perspiration stood in great beads on his forehead, and his staring eyes never left the face of his accuser.
"I wish you could see yourself," the latter quietly remarked. "You'd certainly make a great picture. When you threatened to make this place too hot for me, you didn't expect to feel very uncomfortable that way yourself in such a short time, did you?"
"W-who in the devil's name are you?" Ben gasped.
"Oh, I don't pretend to be as intimate with the devil as you are, and appealing to me in his name doesn't do any good. It makes no difference who I am. You know that what I just said is true, and you can't deny it."
"But suppose I do deny it, what then?"
"H'm, you are talking nonsense now. It's no use for you to do any bluffing. The victim of your deviltry is lying sick unto death at Mrs. Dempster's. You had better go to her at once and make what amends you can before it is too late."