"Great heaven! Margery, what are you talking about?" said Mrs. Brooke with blanched lips.
"They say as how Muster Geril shot the gentleman--the Baron--what was found dead about a hour ago. Not as I believes a word of it," she added with a touch of contempt in her voice. "A pistol set with gold and with funny figures scratched on it, was found not far from the corpus, and they say it belongs to Muster Geril."
"My Indian pistol which I lent to Von Rosenberg ten weeks ago," said Gerald quietly.
"And now the polis have gone for a warrin to take him up," added the girl.
"A warrant to arrest my husband?"
Again Margery nodded. She was a girl who, as a rule, was sparing of her words.
"I, the murderer of Von Rosenberg!" said Gerald, with a bitter laugh. "Such an accusation would be ridiculous if it were not horrible."
Mrs. Brooke wrung her hands and drew in her breath with a half moan. The blow was so overwhelming, that for a few moments words seemed frozen on her lips.
Gerald turned to the window. "Can the irony of fate go further than this," he said to himself, "that I should be accused of a crime for refusing to commit which my own life was to have paid the penalty!"
In came Bunce once more carrying a card on a salver which he presented to his master.