"In theory, we could charge Laird Duncan with attempted murder, for
there is no doubt that he did attempt to kill your brother, my lady.
_But your brother was already dead at the time!_

"The resultant dissipation of psychic energy rendered Laird Duncan
unconscious for several hours, during which Lady Duncan waited in
suspenseful fear.

"Finally, when Laird Duncan regained consciousness, he realized what
had happened. He knew that your brother was already dead when he
attempted the spell. He thought, therefore, that Lady Duncan had
killed the Count.

"On the other hand, Lady Duncan was perfectly well aware that she had
left Edouard alive and well. So she thought the black magic of her
husband had killed her erstwhile lover."

"Each was trying to protect the other," Father Bright said. "Neither
is completely evil, then. There may be something we can do for Laird
Duncan."

"I wouldn't know about that, Father," Lord Darcy said. "The Healing
Art is the Church's business, not mine." He realized with some
amusement that he was paraphrasing Dr. Pateley. "What Laird Duncan had
not known," he went on quickly, "was that his wife had taken a gun up
to the Count's bedroom. That put a rather different light on her
visit, you see. That's why he flew into such a towering rage at
me--not because I was accusing him or his wife of murder, but because
I had cast doubt on his wife's behavior."

He turned his head to look at the table where the Irish sorcerer was
working. "Ready, Master Sean?"

"Aye, my lord. All I have to do is set up the screen and light the
lantern in the projector."

"Go ahead, then." He looked back at Father Bright and the Countess.
"Master Sean has a rather interesting lantern slide I want you to look
at."

"The most successful development I've ever made, if I may say so, my
lord," the sorcerer said.

"Proceed."

Master Sean opened the shutter on the projector, and a picture sprang
into being on the screen.

There were gasps from Father Bright and the Countess.

It was a woman. She was wearing the gown that had hung in the Count's
closet. A button had been torn off, and the gown gaped open. Her right
hand was almost completely obscured by a dense cloud of smoke.
Obviously she had just fired a pistol directly at the onlooker.

But that was not what had caused the gasps.

The girl was beautiful. Gloriously, ravishingly beautiful. It was not
a delicate beauty. There was nothing flower-like or peacefu