such things could be arranged without
risk. No doubt he bought me for a few pounds. I am not the first heir to
an estate who has been produced by such means."

"True enough," agreed the inspector. "The heir to a million has been
bought for a fiver."

"But a few years after taking possession of the fortune, he was struck
down, as I have said, by the first instalment of nature's retribution,
and was incapable of carrying out his plans. No one cared for me. No one
thought of removing me from the sight and influence of his growing
imbecility. I was brought up under the shadow of it. And so the horror
was born in me--the belief that I was mad. What chance had I to resist
it, in those surroundings? When I came to an age to do so, I searched
out the story of my birth, of my father's excesses and my mother's
madness, and my doom crashed upon me. Can you wonder that I became what
I was?"

"No, indeed," said Monsieur Dupont.

"I dropped the name of Winslowe. It was loathsome to me. I used my other
two names, George Copplestone. They, at least, had come from my mother's
side. My old manservant and his wife stuck to me, and kept my secrets.
The income devolved on me in consequence of Winslowe's incapability. And
so things went on. In my morbid demoralization I saw myself growing
nearer and nearer to that wretched creature day by day."

"Dreadful!" shuddered the doctor. "It must have been a living hell."

"Then, last night, Tranter came. He climbed up on the ivy, and tried to
spy into Winslowe's room. But I was there, and heard him. I dragged him
in through the window. I suppose it was some look, some likeness to his
mother, that stirred Winslowe's memory. He recognized him, and a flash
of sanity came back to him. Under that sudden mental stimulation he
recovered his power of movement, and was able to confess at least a part
of the truth. Tranter was taken off his guard, and I forced him to admit
his madness. I compelled him to take Winslowe and myself to Miss
Masters, and she, in her turn, brought us here."

"I imagined she would," Monsieur Dupont remarked.

Copplestone drew a deep breath, and laughed aloud.

"And I am like other men! I can live as other men live. I can do what
other men do. I can----" His eyes rested on the woman beside him, and
his face grew tender. "Yes," he repeated slowly, "I can ... I can...."

There was a pause.

"And it was Tranter who killed Christine Manderson...." the inspector
said, almost