“I repeat that there was a foul and ingenious plot to kill me, and to entrap Miss Heyburn,” Hamilton said.  “It was, of course, clear that Miss Heyburn was jealous of the girl, for she had written to her mother making threats against Miss Bryant’s life.  Therefore, the plot was that I should drink the fatal wine, and that Miss Gabrielle should be declared to be the murderess, she having intended the wine to be partaken of by the girl she hated with such deadly hatred.  The marked cordiality of Krail and Flockart that I should take that seat aroused within me some misgivings, although I had never dreamed of this dastardly and cowardly plot against me—­not until I saw the result of their foul handiwork.”

“It’s a lie!  You are trying to implicate Krail and myself!  The girl is the only guilty person.  She placed the wine there!”

“She did not!” declared Hamilton boldly.  “She was not there when the bottle was changed by Krail, but I was!”

“If what you say is true, then you deliberately stood by and allowed the girl to drink.”

“I watched Krail go to the spot where luncheon was laid out, but could not see what he did.  If I had done so I should have saved the girl’s life.  You were a few yards off, awaiting him; therefore you knew his intentions, and you are as guilty of that girl’s tragic death as he.”

“What!” cried Flockart, his eyes glaring angrily, “do you declare, then, that I am a murderer?”

“You yourself are the best judge of your own guilt,” answered Hamilton meaningly.

“I deny that Krail or myself had any hand in the affair.”

“You will have an opportunity of making that denial in a criminal court ere long,” remarked the Baron’s secretary with a grim smile.

“What,” gasped Lady Heyburn’s friend, his cheeks paling in an instant, “have you been so indiscreet as to inform the police?”

“I have—­a week ago.  I made a statement to M. Hamard of the Surete in Paris, and they have already made a discovery which you will find of interest and somewhat difficult to disprove.”

“And pray what is that?”

Hamilton smiled again, saying, “No, my dear sir, the police will tell you themselves all in due course.  Remember, you and your precious friend plotted to kill me.”

“But why, Mr. Hamilton?” inquired the blind man.  “What was their motive?”

“A very strong one,” was the reply.  “I had recognised in Krail a man who had defrauded the Baron de Hetzendorf of fifty thousand kroners, and for whom the police were in active search, both for that and for several other serious charges of a similar character.  Krail knew this, and he and his friend—­this gentleman here—­had very ingeniously resolved to get rid of me by making it appear that Miss Gabrielle had poisoned me by accident.”

“A lie!” declared Flockart fiercely, though his efforts to remain imperturbed were now palpable.