"And no doubt," said Miss Armytage mercilessly, "Sir Terence will
believe his butler where he can believe neither his wife nor his
friend."

He looked at her in a sort of amazement. "Do you believe them, Sylvia?"
he cried.

"I hope I am not a fool," said she impatiently.

"Meaning--" he began, but broke off. "How long do you say it is since
Dick left the house?"

"Ten minutes at most," replied her ladyship.

He turned and pulled the door open again. "Mullins?" he called.
"Mullins!"

"What a man to live with!" sighed her ladyship, appealing to Miss
Armytage. "What a man!" And she applied a vinaigrette delicately to her
nostrils.

Tremayne smiled, and sauntered to the window. And then at last came
Mullins.

"Has any one left the house within the last ten minutes, Mullins?" asked
Sir Terence.

Mullins looked ill at ease.

"Sure, sir, you'll not be after--"

"Will you answer my question, man?" roared Sir Terence.

"Sure, then, there's nobody left the house at all but Mr. Butler, sir."

"How long had he been here?" asked O'Moy, after a brief pause.

"'Tis what I can't tell ye, sir. I never set eyes on him until I saw him
coming downstairs from her ladyship's room as it might be."

"You can go, Mullins."

"I hope, sir--"

"You can go." And Sir Terence slammed the door upon the amazed servant,
who realised that some unhappy mystery was perturbing the adjutant's
household.

Sir Terence stood facing them again. He was a changed man. The fire had
all gone out of him. His head was bowed and his face looked haggard and
suddenly old. His lip curled into a sneer.

"Pantaloon in the comedy," he said, remembering in that moment the
bitter gibe that had cost Samoval his life.

"What did you say?" her ladyship asked him.

"I pronounced my own name," he answered lugubriously.

"It didn't sound like it, Terence."

"It's the name I ought to bear," he said. "And I killed that liar for
it--the only truth he spoke."

He came forward to the table. The full sense of his position suddenly
overwhelmed him, as Tremayne had said it would. A groan broke from him
and he collapsed into a chair, a stricken, broken man.

CHAPTER XX. THE RESIGNATION

At once, as he sat there, his elbows on the table, his head in his
hands, he found himself surrounded by those three, against each of whom
he had sinned under the spell of the jealousy that had blinded him and
led him by the nose.

His wife put an arm about his