"Quite sure. He told me so this afternoon."
Marson was about to speak, but the sombre expression of her face forbade him to ask further questions, and he remained silent.
The minutes seemed to fly by on wings of lightning to this unhappy man and woman, who waited with shuddering dread for the approach of that horror from which they could not escape.
A knock at the door, and then Marks flung it wide open, announcing three visitors.
"Mr. Fanks, Mr. Axton, Monsieur Guinaud."
"Roger," said Judith to herself, with a sudden pang at her heart, as the servant retired. "Oh, the humiliation!"
Marson greeted his three visitors with a grave bow, and they all sat down in silence. There was a sullen look on the face of Judas, for he felt that he had been undiplomatic in his dealings with the detective, and that all his well-laid schemes would come to naught now that his secret was made known.
On the other hand, Fanks appeared serenely confident that things were going as he wished them, but an uneasy expression on his face as he glanced furtively at Judith, showed that he was by no means pleased with the unexpected discovery he had made. Roger said nothing, but sat looking at the carpet with downcast eyes, the very picture of misery and despair.
"You wish to see me, I understand from your letter, sir," said Marson to the detective, in a dull, hopeless voice.
"Yes; with regard to the death of Sebastian Melstane."
"Nothing?" repeated Fanks, with great emphasis.
Mr. Marson flushed all over his worn face, and he glanced rapidly at Judith, then repeated his former denial with great deliberation.
"I'm sorry to speak rudely to a lady," said Fanks, suavely, "but this is equivocation."
She looked despairingly at him with the expression of a trapped animal in her eyes, a mute appeal for mercy, but the detective steeled his heart against her, and spoke plainly:
"Do you remember a visit you paid the late Mr. Melstane at Binter's boarding-house during the early part of the month of November?"
"Do you recognise this handkerchief?" said Octavius, holding it out to her.
"No. It is a lady's white handkerchief. How should I recognise it?"
She glanced rapidly at the embroidery, and seeing the fatal name "Judith," let her head fall on her breast with a gesture of despair.
