“Lady Heyburn is still at Park Street,” Flockart replied.

“I will hear no more,” declared the blind Baronet, holding up his hand, “not another word until my wife is present.”

CHAPTER XXXVII

INCREASES THE INTEREST

“But, dad,” cried Gabrielle, “I am telling you the truth!  Cannot you believe me, your daughter, before this man who is your enemy?”

“Because of my affliction I am, it seems, deceived by every one,” was his hard response.

To where they stood had come the sound of wheels upon the gravelled drive outside, and a moment later Hill entered, announcing, “A gentleman to see you very urgently, Sir Henry.  He is from Baron de Hetzendorf.”

“From the Baron!” gasped the blind man.  “I’ll see him later.”

“Why, it may be Hamilton!” cried Murie; who, looking through the door, saw his old friend in the corridor, and quickly called him in.

As he faced Flockart he drew himself up.  The attitude of them all made it apparent to him that something unusual was in progress.

“You’ve arrived at a very opportune moment, Hamilton,” Murie said.  “You have met Miss Heyburn before, and also Flockart, I believe, at Lady Heyburn’s, in Paris.”

“Yes, but——­”

“Sir Henry,” Walter said in a quiet tone, “this gentleman sent by the Baron is his secretary, the same Mr. Edgar Hamilton of whom Gabrielle has just been speaking.”

“Ah, then, perhaps he can furnish us with further facts regarding this most extraordinary statement of my daughter’s,” the blind man exclaimed.

“Gabrielle has just told her father the truth regarding a certain tragic occurrence in the Forest of Pontarme.  Explain to us all you know, Edgar.”

“What I know,” said Hamilton, “is very quickly told.  Has Miss Heyburn mentioned the man Krail?”

“Yes, I have told them about him,” the girl answered.

“You have, however, perhaps omitted to mention one or two small facts in connection with the affair,” he said.  “Do you not remember how, on that eventful afternoon in the forest, when searching for us, you first encountered Krail walking with this man Flockart at some distance from the others?”

“Yes, I recollect.”

“And do you remember that when we returned to sit down to luncheon Flockart insisted that I should take the seat which was afterwards occupied by the unfortunate Miss Bryant?  Do you recollect how I spread a rug for her at that spot and preferred myself to stand?  The reason of their invitation to me to sit there I did not discover until afterwards.  That wine had been prepared for me, not for her.”

“For you!” the girl gasped, amazed.

“Yes.  The plot was undoubtedly this—­”

“There was no plot,” protested Flockart, interrupting.  “This girl killed Edna Bryant through intense jealousy.”