"'Enough, enough!' he cried, jumping up. Then he stood for a moment struggling with himself as it were, clutched at his throat, staggered, and fell in a heap on the floor. I rushed forward to raise him, but he was already dead. When I saw he was dead, I was distraught. First I put on my disguise once more, and went forth into the night, reeling like a blind man. But a few minutes' thought induced me to return. I resolved to leave London by the earliest train, and did leave next morning."
Exhausted by this long effort, Silwood ceased speaking. Gilbert never doubted Silwood had spoken the truth. Besides, he had noticed how in several points his statements were confirmed by the evidence at the inquest on Morris Thornton. The explanation of the Mystery of Lincoln's Inn was, after all, curiously simple, once the facts were known in their entirety.
"I believe I have told you all," said Silwood, as Gilbert stood silently by his bed. "Is there anything you wish to ask me? If there is, ask it now, for I feel a dreadful weakness coming over me."
As the man spoke, a shiver shook him from head to foot.
"No. I think there is nothing else," said Gilbert, gently, his heart again softened.
"You will not forget your promise about my wife and child?" Silwood asked eagerly.
"I shall not."
"They need never know who Cooper Silwood was, need they?"
"Perhaps not," agreed Gilbert, but doubtingly.
"If you can, let them believe I am none other than the James Russell they love, and who loves——"