The words he used were Japanese.  In his weakened consciousness all he could recollect was the language he learnt from his Japanese mother—­the mother he despised when he became a man and knew his history.

Winter and Brett were now holding him.  The others drew apart.  They afterwards confessed that the death of this murderer, this tiger-cub of their race, affected them greatly.  He was fearless to the end.  The way in which he quitted life became him more than the manner in which he lived.

There was a bustle without, and the local doctor entered.  He looked wise, profound, even ventured on a sceptical remark when the barrister explained that Ooma had injected snake-poison into his arm.  But he lifted the eyelids of the figure in the chair and glanced at the pupils.

“Whatever the cause of death may be, he is undoubtedly dead!” was his verdict.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE LAST NOTE IN BRETT’S DIARY

Winter and Holden were invaluable during the trying hours that followed.  Acting in conjunction with the local police, they caused a search to be made for Capella’s body.  It was found easily enough.  Only once did the line cross such a place as that described by Ooma, and a bruised and battered corpse was taken out of the boulder-strewn stream beneath the viaduct.

Meanwhile Winter, writing from Brett’s dictation, drew up a complete statement of all the facts retailed by the Japanese in relation to the murders of Sir Alan Hume-Frazer and the unfortunate Italian.

This they signed, and went to obtain the signatures of the two cousins, Holden, and the man-servant, for whom a special short statement had been prepared.

“This is for use at the coroner’s inquest, I suppose?” inquired David.

“Yes,” said Brett.  “We must seize that opportunity to publish all the evidence needed to thoroughly acquit you of suspicion in relation to your cousin’s death.  By prior consultation with the coroner we can, if you think fit, keep out of the inquiry all allusions to Mrs. Capella.”

“It would certainly be the best thing to do,” agreed David, “especially in view of the fact that Robert and I have burnt those beastly papers.”

He pointed to some shivering ashes in the grate of the drawing-room, for Ooma occupied the library in the last solemn stateliness of his final appearance on earth.

“What!” cried Brett.  “Do you mean to say that you have destroyed the documents deposited by the Japanese on the writing-desk?”

“Not exactly all,” was the cool reply.  “We picked out those referring to Margaret, and made an end of them.  We hope to be able to do the same with regard to papers discovered on Capella’s body or among his belongings.  Those bearing on Ooma himself are here”—­and he pointed to a small packet, neatly tied up, reposing on the mantelpiece.

“You have done a somewhat serious thing.”