"For you!" the girl gasped, amazed.
"Yes. The plot was undoubtedly this—"
"There was no plot," protested Flockart, interrupting. "This girl killed
Edna Bryant through intense jealousy."
"I repeat that there was a foul and ingenious plot to kill me, and to entrap Miss Heyburn," Hamilton said. "It was, of course, clear that Miss Heyburn was jealous of the girl, for she had written to her mother making threats against Miss Bryant's life. Therefore, the plot was that I should drink the fatal wine, and that Miss Gabrielle should be declared to be the murderess, she having intended the wine to be partaken of by the girl she hated with such deadly hatred. The marked cordiality of Krail and Flockart that I should take that seat aroused within me some misgivings, although I had never dreamed of this dastardly and cowardly plot against me—not until I saw the result of their foul handiwork."
"It's a lie! You are trying to implicate Krail and myself! The girl is the only guilty person. She placed the wine there!"
"She did not!" declared Hamilton boldly. "She was not there when the bottle was changed by Krail, but I was!"
"If what you say is true, then you deliberately stood by and allowed the girl to drink."
"I watched Krail go to the spot where luncheon was laid out, but could not see what he did. If I had done so I should have saved the girl's life. You were a few yards off, awaiting him; therefore you knew his intentions, and you are as guilty of that girl's tragic death as he."
"What!" cried Flockart, his eyes glaring angrily, "do you declare, then, that I am a murderer?"
"You yourself are the best judge of your own guilt," answered Hamilton meaningly.