“Was that the truth?”
“Judge for yourself by subsequent events. This man Nicholson was a diamond merchant, and the safe in his rooms frequently contained gems worth large sums. Egerton fostered a murderous hatred towards this man, whom he had never seen, but who was the only obstacle to his happiness. One day he met them both in the Bois, and she introduced him. On subsequent occasions the two men met, and the artist ingratiated himself with his rival. Ah!”
He paused, and gasped for breath. Then, resuming, said—
“I—I needn’t go into details. It is sufficient to say that she grew tired of Nicholson, and announced the fact to Egerton, remarking that if she could free herself from the odious bond she would become his mistress. This—this had the—desired effect. A few days later Nicholson was found dead in his room. He had been murdered by Egerton—”
“Jack Egerton a murderer?”
“Yes. And the safe, which had contained a quantity of valuable uncut stones, had been ransacked.”
“Great heavens! you cannot be speaking the truth! Do you mean to say that this Nicholson was killed by my friend Egerton?”
“Yes. Stabbed to the heart,” he replied faintly, with closed eyes.
“Do you expect me to accept this without proof?” asked Trethowen.
The prostrate man opened his eyes. In them the film of death had already gathered.