Merle's face clouded, but he did not speak.
"Jason Marrow was your half-brother, Merle," continued Old Broadbrim. "He held the secret of your life in Australia; he knew that you had leagued yourself with Belle Demona, the woman who planned the death of Custer Kipp, and he wrote out the story of your life and hers, in order that justice should find your trail if you slew him to render the dread secret safe. You searched the house near the little alley, after the second deed. You went from Custer Kipp's house to your brother Jason's. You found him alone, and the same hand that throttled the millionaire killed the other."
Merle looked into the detective's face, and for a moment it seemed that he would deny the charge, but he did not reply.
"It's been a long chase," pursued Old Broadbrim. "Thee might have checked pursuit in New York."
Merle's look said: "How?" in language not to be misconstrued.
"Thee forgot that the dead might speak and tell the very name under which thee embarked in the Campania. That name fastened the crime upon thee. I crossed the sea after 'Rufus Redmond,' but all the time I was looking for Merle Macray."
Once more the fine face above the saddle grew troubled and a baleful light came into the eyes, but it died away and Merle's countenance resumed its old appearance.
On, still on, under the stars of the far-off island rode the three men.
Hours passed.
Neither Old Broadbrim nor Waters had relaxed their vigilance.