"You lie!" he cried. "You say this in order to shield yourself. You know that your mother and I are aware of your crime, and have always shielded you."
"Crime!" gasped Walter Murie, utterly amazed. "What is this man saying, dearest?"
But the girl stood, blanched and rigid, her jaw set, unable to utter a word.
"Let me tell you briefly," Flockart went on. "Lady Heyburn and myself have been this girl's best friends; but now I must speak openly, in defence of the allegation she is making against me."
"Yes, speak!" urged Sir Henry. "Speak and tell me the truth."
"It is a painful truth, Sir Henry; would that I were not compelled to make such a charge. Your daughter deliberately killed a young girl named Edna Bryant. She poisoned her on account of jealousy."
"Impossible!" cried Sir Henry, starting up. "I—I can't believe it,
Flockart. What are you saying? My daughter a murderess!"
"Yes, I repeat my words. And not only that, but Lady Heyburn and myself have kept her secret until—until now it is imperative that the truth should be told to you."
"Let me speak, dad—let me tell you——"
"No," cried the old man, "I will hear Flockart." And, turning to his wife's friend, he said hoarsely, "Go on. Tell me the truth."