In reply to my questions, he told me that the reason why he could not satisfactorily prove an alibi if accused of the crime was because at the hour of the tragedy he was engaged upon a mission for the Government, a secret transaction with an agent of another foreign Power which was greatly to our advantage, and betrayal of which would create serious international complications. His allegations of enmity towards the Professor had been made to mystify me.
He added, also, that the reason why the Commissioner of Police had not listened to my story was because I had made accusations against him. They knew him at “the Yard,” he added with a laugh, and it was not likely they would dare to make inquiry into his actions.
“But I saw Miss Ethelwynn lying dead!” I said, turning to the Professor—for how could I now doubt that it was actually he?
“Let my daughter relate her own story,” he said; and, going to the door, he recalled her.
“Just tell Mr Holford, dear, what occurred to you on that evening when you returned from your aunt’s,” he said, as she entered the room. “I have confessed to him the truth.”
“Well, dad,” she said, “I believed that the man in the laboratory was you yourself. Besides, Mr Kirk believed it to be you. The face was, of course, much disfigured, but the clothes were yours, and in the pockets were your watch and some of your letters. I was insane with grief, and with Morgan, to whom Mr Kirk told a fictitious story, I went to Lady Mellor’s. On the night in question something seemed to prompt me to return home, enter with my latch-key, and go up to the laboratory to make sure that it was really you. I somehow could not believe that you were dead. Remember, I was in the Red Room all night, and you would certainly have awakened me if you had entered and unlocked the door. So I went. I crept in softly, in order that Antonio should not hear me, and, ascending to the laboratory, switched on the light. I examined the body closely. Ah! it was a gruesome sight—but I satisfied myself that it was not you! I crept downstairs, back to the dining-room, but as I entered something was suddenly flung over my head; I smelt a curious odour—it may have been some anaesthetic. I tried to scream, but could not, and in a few moments I became unconscious. When I regained my senses I found myself in a strange house, with Mr Kirk bending over me. I believe I was delirious, for I remember shouting and raving, and charging him with an attempt to kill me. It was impressed upon my unbalanced mind that he had killed my father. But, on the contrary, he was all care and attention. On putting my hand to my face I found upon my cheek a quantity of what seemed like wax, which peeled off in my hand.”
“And you afterwards went down to Broadstairs?” I said.
“Yes; I went with Morgan on the following day.”
“But who had attacked you in the dining-room?”
“Ah! that remains to be proved,” replied Kirk. “A desperate attempt was, no doubt, made upon Miss Ethelwynn by somebody who had entered the house secretly for the same purpose as herself—by somebody who suspected that Leftwich had come to an untimely end. The would-be assassin first administered an anaesthetic, and must afterwards have injected with a hypodermic syringe some curious poison, which gave to her all the appearance of death, though the dose was fortunately inefficient. With the remembrance of Leftwich’s features—which he had only seen a few minutes before—being disfigured, it seems that her assailant tried to disfigure hers by pouring upon her face hot wax from the candles alight upon the dining-room table. It was, of course, the act of a person half demented by the desire for revenge.”