e in the plot. They had perhaps
meant him to be caught and sent back to Portland, to die like a wild
beast in a cage.

"There'll be murder done first!" said Westwood, looking round him for a
weapon. "Let's see which is the strongest--Hubert Lepel or me. And now
for the door! The window is too high."

He had found a poker, and he dealt one crashing blow at the lock of the
door. It was not strong, and it yielded almost immediately. There was a
shriek from some one on the stairs--the rush of two men from the hall.
The General and a servant were instantly upon him, and, what was worse,
Cynthia's arms were around his neck, her hand upon his arm.

"Father, don't strike! You will kill somebody!" she cried.

"And what do I care? Is it you that have given me up? Do you want me to
die like a rat in a hole?" the man cried, trying to shake her off.

But the men were at his side--resistance was useless--the door at the
foot of the stairs had been barred, and there was no way of escape.

"The police will be here directly--keep him till they come!" cried the
General at the top of his voice. "I shall give him in charge! He is the
murderer Westwood, the man who killed my bother, Sydney Vane, and
afterwards escaped from Portland Prison, where he was undergoing a life
sentence! I remember the man perfectly. Sabina Meldreth, you can
identify him?"

"Oh, yes, I can identify him!" said Sabina curtly. "He's Miss West's
father, anyway--and we all know who that was. We heard her call him
'father' just now her very self."

The servants tightened their grasp on the man's arm. But at that moment
an interruption occurred. The drawing-room door was flung open, and
Hubert Lepel, ghastly pale, and staggering a little as he moved,
appeared upon the scene.

"This must go no further," he said. "Keep the police away, and let this
man go. He is not Sydney Vane's murderer."

"Don't interfere, sir!" shouted the General from the stairs. "This is
Westwood, the man who escaped from Portland--and back to Portland he
shall go!"

"It is Westwood, I know," said Herbert, supporting himself against the
door-post, and looking down calmly upon the excited group below; "but
Westwood was not a murderer. General, you have been mistaken all this
time. I wish to make a statement of the truth--it was I who killed
Sydney Vane! Now do what you like!"

CHAPTER L.

A sudden hush fell upon the group. Each looked at the others aghast. The
general opinion w