"Mr. Lawrence, your daughter was as happy and as much in love with life as you believed her to be. She never attempted to commit suicide," said the detective, firmly.
"She did not? Then who—what—?" began the banker, in a maze of bewilderment.
"The dagger that pierced her innocent breast was driven home by the murderous hand of Mrs. Vance!" was the reply.
Fear, horror and amazement were blended on the pale, excited features of the listener. His gray head fell back against the cushions of the carriage, and he struggled helplessly for speech in which to express his feelings. Mr. Shelton again had recourse to his convenient flask of wine.
"I fear I am exciting you too much with my astonishing revelations," said the detective, kindly. "I do not wonder at your emotion, for my own agitation at learning these facts was great. How much more poignant must your feelings be than mine were, under the circumstances that affect you so closely."
"The viper! The serpent that stung the hand that warmed and fed her!" exclaimed the banker, bitterly.
"You may well say so," said Mr. Shelton. "She has indeed proved herself a monster of ingratitude! But to-day she will find herself foiled and ruined. She has but a few hours remaining to her now of her fancied security and happiness."
"God be thanked!" said the banker; "and, oh! Mr. Shelton, are we almost there? The time seems so long. Forgive a father's impatience, but you cannot imagine what suspense I suffer, what longings overwhelm me at the thought that I shall soon clasp my darling Lily to my heart again!"
"We shall soon be there now. Patience, my friend," said the detective. "Believe me, I sympathize in your impatience to behold your daughter again."