The folding doors were closed for a minute, and then flung wide open. The farther room was now a blaze of light. Facing this light, so that every minute detail could be plainly seen, was a large unframed canvas, on which in colours the most vivid, was painted Lionel Dering’s Dream.
The scene was Percy Osmond’s bedroom, and the moment selected by the artist was the one when, after the brief struggle between Osmond and Kester, the latter has obtained possession of the dagger, and while pinning Osmond down with one knee and one arm, has, with his other hand, forced the dagger deep into his opponent’s heart. Peeping from behind the curtains could be seen the white, terror-stricken, face of Pierre Janvard. The figures were all life-size, and the likenesses takable.
Awe-struck they crowded round the folding doors, and gazed silently at the picture, forgetting for the moment that the man thus strangely accused was one of themselves.
“Now you see how the murder really happened—now you know who the murderer really was,” said Lionel, speaking from some place in the farther room where he could not be seen. “This is no dream but a most dread reality that you see pictured before you. I have proofs—ample proofs—of the truth of that which I now state. The murderer of Percy Osmond stands among you. Kester St. George is that man!”
At these words, every eye was turned instinctively on Kester. He was still standing at the table where he had put down his glass. His right hand was hidden in his waistcoat. With his left hand he supported himself against the table. A strange lividity had overspread his face; his lips twitched nervously. His frightened eyes wandered from one face to another of those who were now gazing on him. He tried to speak, but could not. Then his eyes fixed themselves on the brandy. Tom interpreted the look and poured some into a glass. He drank it greedily and then he spoke.
“What you have just been told,” he said, “is nothing but a cruel, cowardly; devilish lie! Where is this man who accuses me? Why does he hide himself? He hides himself because he is a liar—because he dare not face either you or me. We all know who was the murderer—we all know that Lionel Dering——”