“But didn't he suspect you?” exclaimed Clymer. He had gradually recovered from the shock of Rochester's charges on his arrival, and was listening with keen attention to Sylvester's confession.
“No. I made the check payable to Colonel McIntyre and forged his endorsement,” Sylvester spoke with an air of pride, and he smiled in malicious enjoyment as, catching his eye, Barbara shrank back and sheltered herself behind Kent. “Mr. Turnbull accepted the check; later something must have aroused his suspicions, and I found when he questioned me that he believed Colonel McIntyre had forged the check.”
“Good heavens! You let him think that?” gasped McIntyre; then wrath gained the mastery. “You scoundrel!”
“Oh, I encouraged him to think it,” Sylvester grinned again. “You must have handed Mr. Turnbull a raw deal; he was so ready to think evil of you.”
“That is a lie!” exclaimed Helen hotly. “When I went downstairs to investigate the noise I heard in the library, father, Jimmie told me who he was to quiet my fright. He showed me a letter, which he had just found on your desk in the library, confessing that you had forged Mr. Clymer's name on the check, and begging Jimmie to conceal your crime and save Barbara and me from the shame of having you exposed as a forger and a thief.”
“I never wrote such a letter!” shouted McIntyre, deeply incensed.
“No, it was a clever plan,” acknowledged Sylvester. “On one of my trips to your house, Colonel McIntyre, I secured wax impressions of your front door lock. I went to your house Monday night and put the letter among your papers just before Turnbull was admitted by your fool of a butler.”
“And you gave Jimmie Turnbull a dose of poison—” charged Kent, but Sylvester, his lips gone dry, raised his manacled hands in protest.
“I did not poison him,” he cried. “I waited just to see if Turnbull got the letter and to find out what he'd do with the securities, which he had refused to turn over to me. After he had read the forged letter Mr. Turnbull acted sort of faint and went out in the hall. I could just see him put down a box on the hall table and lean against the wall. Then he went into the dining room and came back a second later carrying a glass of water, and I saw him take up and open a small box and toss some white pills into his mouth; then he took a good drink, and, picking up a handkerchief lying on the table, he went back into the library.”
There was silence as Sylvester's callous recital of the tragedy ended. Helen, her eyes tearless and dark with suffering, sank slowly back in her chair and rested her head against Barbara's sympathetic shoulder.