I have found the photograph of Strauss, or Van Hupfeldt, and with it the letter in which he announced to your sister that he was already married to another woman.
David.
Van Hupfeldt, of course, had seen this thrice-convincing and accusing document, which proved not only that he and his secret were in David’s power, but that David had expected Violet to visit his dwelling. He was sitting at the table in a stupor of rage and terror, when he fancied he heard a rustling in the outer passage. Beside himself with anger at the threatened downfall of his cardboard castle, strung to a state of high nervous tension by the horror he had of that abode of dreadful memories, he half turned toward the door, which had swung back almost into its place.
Through the chink he noticed an exterior radiance; nevertheless, he paid no heed to it, although his wearied brain seemed to remind him that he had not left a light in the corridor. Yet again he heard another rustle, as of a woman’s garments. This time he sprang up, with the madness of hysteria in his eyes; he tore open the door, and saw Violet near to him. She, noting the movement of the door, stood stock-still with surprise and some fear, ungovernable emotions which undoubtedly gave a touch of wan tragedy to her expression. Moreover, the glow of the hall lamp was now behind her, and her features were somewhat in gloom; so it was not to be wondered at that Van Hupfeldt, with his conscience on the rack, thought he was actually looking at the embodied spirit of Gwendoline. He expected to see the dead woman, and he was far too unhinged to perceive that he was face to face with a living one.
He threw up his arms, uttered that horrible screech which had reached the ears of David and the porter, and collapsed limply to the floor, whence, from his knees, while he sank slowly, he gazed at the frightened girl with such an awful look of a doomed man that she, in turn, screamed aloud. Then she saw a thin stream of blood issuing from between his pallid lips, and, the strain being too great, she fainted; so that David, after bursting in the door and finding the two bodies prostrate, one on each side of the entrance to the dining-room, imagined for one agonizing second that another and more ghastly crime had been enacted in those haunted chambers.
He lifted Violet tenderly in his arms, and guessed at once that she had been overcome by the sight of Van Hupfeldt, who, at the first glance, seemed to have inflicted some mortal injury on himself.
The hall-porter, aghast at the discovery of two people apparently dead whom he had seen alive a few minutes earlier, kept his wits sufficiently together to stoop over Van Hupfeldt; then he, too, noticed the blood welling forth. “It’s all right, sir,” cried he, in a queer, cracked voice to David; “this here gent has on’y broke a blood-vessel!”
David said something which had better be forgotten; just then Violet, who was not at all of the lymphatic order, opened her eyes and looked at him.
“Thank God!” he whispered, close to her lips, and she, scarce comprehending her whereabouts yet, made a brave effort to smile at him.
He had carried her into the little drawing-room, and he now placed her in a chair. “Have no fear,” he said. “I am here. I shall not leave you.”