of the room to get pen,
ink and paper. "What about?"

He soon knew, for when he was established by the side of the bed with
his writing materials on a small table, Caranby laughed to himself
quietly. "Do you know what I am about to say?" he gasped.

"No. If it is nothing important you had better not exhaust yourself."

"It is most important, as you will hear. I know who murdered the
supposed Miss Loach."

Cuthbert nearly dropped the pen. "Who was it?" he asked, expecting to
hear the name of Mrs. Octagon.

"I did!" said Caranby, quietly.

"You!--that's impossible."

"Unfortunately it is true. It was an accident, though. Yeo, give me
more drink; I must tell everything."

Yeo was quite calm. He had known Caranby for many years, and was not
at all disposed to shrink from him because he confessed to having
committed a murder. He knew that the Earl was a kind-hearted man and
had been shamefully treated by three women. In fact, he was secretly
glad to hear that Emilia Saul had met her death at the hand of a man
she had injured. But he kept these sentiments to himself, and after
giving his patient a strong tonic to revive his energies, he sat by the
bedside with his fingers on the pulse of the dying man. Caranby
rallied considerably, and when he began his recital spoke in stronger
tones.

Cuthbert dipped his pen in the ink, but did not dare even to think. He
was wondering how the death of Emilia had come about, and also how his
uncle had gone to the unfinished house on the same night as he had
done. Remembering how Basil stated he had been chased by someone
unknown, Cuthbert began to fancy he saw light. However, at this moment
Caranby began to speak, and as every moment was precious, both men
forbore to interrupt him unless desirous to have a clearer
understanding on certain points.

"When I came back to England," said Caranby, "I never thought that
Emilia was alive. Owing to the clever way in which the substitution
was effected by Isabella, I always thought Selina lived at Rose
Cottage. Several times I tried to see her, hoping she would marry me.
But she always refused. I was puzzled at the time, but now I know the
reason. I never thought of looking at the unfinished house. It was a
piece of sentimental folly my shutting it up, but afterwards, as time
slipped by, I never troubled about looking into the matter. As Cuthbert
will tell you, Yeo, laziness is a vice with me."

"Go on with the stor