poke sharply, his voice
strained to the breaking point.

"If you are so certain of my guilt, Blaine, why have you come to me
secretly here and now? What is your price?"

"I have no price," the great detective answered, simply.

"Then why did you not arrest me at once? Why this purposeless
interview?"

"Because--" Blaine paused, and when he spoke again, a solemn hush,
almost of pity, had crept into his tones. "You come of a fine old
line, Mr. Rockamore, of a splendid race. Your grandfather, the aged
Earl, is living only in the past, proud of the record of his
forebears. Your father is a soldier and statesman, valuable to the
nation; his younger brother, Cedric, has achieved deserved fame and
glory in the Boer War. There remains only you. For the sake of the
innocent who must suffer with you, I have come to you to-night, that
you may have an opportunity to--prepare yourself. In the morning I
must arrest you. My duty is plain."

As he uttered the words, the craven fear which had struggled
through the malicious sneer on the other man's face faded as if an
obliterating hand had passed across his brow, and a look of
indomitable courage and resignation took its place. There was
something akin to nobility in his expression as he turned to the
detective with head proudly erect and shoulders squared.

"I thank you, Mr. Blaine," he said, simply. "I understand. I shall not
fail them--the others! You have been far more generous to me than I
deserve. And now--good-night. You will find me here when you come in
the morning."

But in the morning Henry Blaine did not carry out his expressed
intention. Instead, he sat at his desk, staring at the headlines
in a paper spread out before him. The Honorable Bertrand Rockamore
had been found dead on the floor of his den, with a bullet through
his head. He would never allow his man to touch his guns, and had
been engaged in cleaning one of them, as was his custom, in
preparation for his annual shooting trip to Florida, when in some
fashion it had been accidentally discharged.

"I wonder if I did the right thing!" mused Blaine. "He had the courage
to do it, after all. Blood will tell, in the end."

CHAPTER XIX

THE UNSEEN LISTENER

"There's a man outside who wishes to speak to you, sir. Says his name
is Hicks, but won't tell his business."

Blaine looked up from the paper.

"Never heard of him. What sort of a man, Marsh?"

"Old, white-haired, carries himself like an ol