“I—I—can—prove it. He killed Nicholson because—because he loved Valérie?”
“Was she aware of his intentions?”
“No, no—mon Dieu!—no!” he gasped.
“Tell me all the circumstances which led to the tragedy,” demanded Hugh, with fierce impatience.
“It’s a long story. The whole facts would astonish you. You remember—your brother—was murdered? Ah! Dieu! My throat! I’m choking! My head! It’s all so strange! Yet now I—I feel quite well again—quite—well!”
The colour had left his lips, and his eyes, although wide-open, were dim. The death-rattle was in his throat.
“For God’s sake, tell me more before you die?” implored Hugh, bending over him.
But the convict took no heed.
“Valérie! Valérie!” he moaned in a hoarse, feeble voice.
His jaw suddenly dropped, and the light went out of his face.