“In little over half an hour.  He rushed in in the same wild way he had rushed out—­like a man gone mad.”

“What did he say?”

“He shouted, ’It is false—­a false, devilish slander!  She is not there!’”

“Well—­and then?”

“And then Claudine shrieked aloud and pointed to his hands.  They were dripping with blood!”

“Did he attempt any explanation?”

“Not then.  His first words were, as if he spoke in spite of himself:  ‘Blood! blood!  Good God, it is hers!  She is murdered!’”

“You say he offered no explanation then.  Did he afterward?”

“I believe so.  Not to me, but to others.  He said his foot slipped on the stone terrace, and his hand splashed in a pool of something—­his wife’s blood.”

“Can you relate what followed?”

“There was the wildest confusion.  Claudine fainted.  Sir Everard shouted for lights and men.  ‘There has been a horrible murder done,’ he said.  ‘Fetch lights and follow me!’ and then we all rushed to the stone terrace.”

“And there you saw—­what?”

“Nothing but blood.  It was stained and clotted with blood everywhere; and so was the railing, as though a bleeding body had been cast over into the sea.  On a projecting spike, as though torn off in the fall, we found my lady’s India scarf.”

“You think, then, he cast the body over after the deed was done?”

“I am morally certain he did.  There was no other way of disposing of it.  The tide was at flood, the current strong, and it was swept away at once.”

“What was the prisoner’s conduct on the terrace?”

“He fainted stone-dead before he was there five minutes.  They had to carry him lifeless to the house.”

“Was it not on that occasion the scabbard marked with his initials was discovered?”

“It was.  One of the men picked it up.  The dagger hidden in the elm-tree was found by the detective later.”

“You recognized them both?  You had seen them before in the possession of the prisoner?”

“Often.  He brought the dagger from Paris.  It used to lie on his dressing-table.”

“Where he said he found the anonymous note?”

“Yes.”

“Now Miss Silver,” said the prosecuting attorney, “from what you said at the inquest and from what you have let drop to-day, I infer that my lady’s secret was no secret to you.  Am I right?”

There was a momentary hesitation—­a rising:  flush, a drooping of the brilliant eyes, then Miss Silver replied: 

“Yes.”

“How did you learn it?”

“Mr. Parmalee himself told me.”

“You were Mr. Parmalee’s intimate friend, then, it appears?”

“Y-e-e-s.”

“Was he only a friend?  He was a young man, and an unmarried one, as I am given to understand, and you, Miss Silver, are—­pardon my boldness—­a very handsome young lady.”