“The fact that you witnessed the murder at Bedford Place,” he replied. “You have seen the man who killed Mrs Inglewood, and he also, I am certain, murdered my wife! You may well stare; but consider well, as I have done, and you will come to the same conclusion. When Nell left me she said, ‘Good-bye Ned; I know it’s a dangerous errand I’m on, but don’t fret.’ It was dangerous—fatal. When I found she did not return I went out. It was dark, and a very few steps from my door I stumble on a drunken woman lying in a corner. When I looked closer my head reeled, and I nearly fainted—it was Nell! On her breast was the—the—”
“The seal!” I exclaimed.
He did not answer. Gradually his voice had become fainter, till it was only by placing my ear almost to his mouth that I caught the feebly-uttered syllables.
Putting the candle to his face I saw that his eyes were fixed on vacancy, while huge drops of dank perspiration stood upon the tightly-drawn skin of the forehead.
Evidently my mysterious acquaintance was dying rapidly. What was to be done?
The fatal secret was yet locked in his bosom.
Maddened with a feverish anxiety I emptied the brandy remaining in the flask down his throat, afterwards wiping his pallid face with my handkerchief.
My efforts for a time seemed in vain, but by degrees the breathing became more perceptible. Presently he opened his eyes.
“Thanks, thanks,” he murmured, his hands clutching convulsively over mine with each respiration.
“Are you better now?” I asked.