"He had promised. And, moreover, he believed it kinder to hide the
truth from Lois. Only at the last he determined to speak at all costs.
But it was too late. You know—he was murdered on the steps of
Travers' house."
Nehal Singh nodded. An even deadlier pallor crept over his features.
"I know," he said. "It was Behar Singh's last vengeance. God knows, my hands are clean."
"That I know. You are your father's son."
"And the proof of all this?"
"This ring. Take it. It was your mother's. Travers gave it to me when he made his confession. He took it from the poor mad woman at their first meeting. Look at the inscription. It bears your mother's and father's names."
"And Travers—?" The Rajah lifted his hand in a stern, threatening gesture.
"—is dead," was the grave answer. "He died an hour ago, in his wife's arms."
For a moment a profound hush hung over the great, dimly lighted hall. The Rajah knelt down by his mother's side and gently replaced the ring upon the thin lifeless finger.
"She called herself a traitor," he said, half to himself. "A traitor to whom—to what?"