The lamp-flash revealed a white, haggard countenance. I saw it; I recognised it!
A loud cry of horror and amazement escaped me. Was I dreaming? No. It was no dream, but a stern, living reality—a truth that bewildered and staggered me utterly—a grim, awful truth which deprived me of the power of speech.
Chapter Twenty Nine.
Lifts the Veil.
The man under arrest was not, as I had expected, John Parham—but Eric Domville!
I stood glaring at him, utterly staggered.
Then I sprang forward to greet him—to welcome him as one returned from the grave, but next instant drew back. His face was changed—the expression upon it was that of terror—and of guilt!
“You are arrested,” continued Pickering, in a calm, matter-of-fact way, adding that phrase of patter which is spoken each time a person is taken into custody, “and I warn you that whatever statement you may now make will be taken down in writing and used in evidence against you at your trial.”