This was true, as Lambert admitted.  However, he saw that Garvington was afraid for some reason, and pressed his advantage.  “Now that you see how it fits, you must be aware that it could only have been fired from the revolver which you gave Silver.”

“I don’t see that,” protested Garvington.  “That bullet may fit many revolvers.”

Lambert shook his head.  “I don’t think so.  I had that brace of revolvers especially manufactured, and the make is peculiar.  I am quite prepared to swear that the bullet would fit no other weapon.  And—­and”—­he hesitated, then faced the girl, who lingered, sullen and disappointed.  “You can go, Chaldea,” said Lambert, pointing to the French window of the library, which was wide open.

The gypsy sauntered toward it, clutching her shawl and gritting her white teeth together.  “Oh, I go my ways, my rye, but I have not done with you yet, may the big devil rack my bones if I have.  You win to-day—­I win to-morrow, and so good day to you, and curses on you for a bad one.  The devil is a nice character—­and that’s you!” she screamed, beside herself with rage.  “The puro beng is a fino mush, if you will have the kalo jib!” and with a wild cry worthy of a banshee she disappeared and was seen running unsteadily across the lawn.  Lambert shrugged his shoulders again and turned to his miserable cousin, who had sat down with a dogged look on his fat face.  “I have got rid of her because I wish to save the family name from disgrace,” said Lambert quietly.

“There is no disgrace on my part.  Remember to whom you are speaking.”

“I do.  I speak to the head of the family, worse luck!  You have done your best to trail our name in the mud.  You altered a check which Pine gave you so as to get more money; you forged his name to a mortgage—­”

“Lies, lies, the lies of Agnes!” screamed Garvington, jumping up and shaking his fist in puny anger.  “The wicked—­”

“Speak properly of my wife, or I’ll wring your neck,” said Lambert sharply.  “As to what she told me being lies, it is only too true, as you know.  I read the letter you wrote confessing that you had lured Pine here to be shot by telling falsehoods about Agnes and me.”

“I only lured him to get his arm broken so that I might nurse him when he was ill and get some money,” growled Garvington, sitting down again.

“I am well aware of what you did and how you did it.  But you gave that forged letter to Silver so that it might be passed on to Pine.”

“I didn’t!  I didn’t!  I didn’t!  I didn’t!”

“You did.  And because Silver knew too much you gave him the Abbot’s Wood Cottage at a cheap rent, or at no rent at all, for all I know.  To be quite plain, Garvington, you conspired with Silver to have Pine killed.”

“Winged—­only winged, I tell you.  I never shot him.”

“Your accomplice did.”

“He’s not my accomplice.  He was in the house—­everything was locked up.”