Ambrose flushed darkly.  That Colina should even for a moment hold the balance between him and the half-breed made him burn with anger.  Passionate reproaches leaped to his lips, but pride forced them back.

Turning stiffly he marched downstairs before Macfarlane without a word.  She should suffer for this when he was exonerated, he vowed.  That he might not be exonerated immediately did not occur to him.

In the library Strange and Macfarlane whispered together.  When Pringle rejoined them all were silent.  For upward of ten minutes they waited, facing each other grimly.

The strain was too great for the nerves of the little parson.  He finally broke into a kind of terrified, dry sobbing.

“For God’s sake say something!” he faltered.  “This is too horrible!”

Macfarlane glanced at him with a contemptuous pity and stood a little aside from the door.  “Better go into the front room,” he said.  “You can’t do any good here.”

The little man shook his head, and going to the window turned his back on them and endeavored to master his shaking.

Shortly afterward Colina came down-stairs.  At her entrance all looked the question none dared put into words.

Colina veiled her eyes.  “My father only fainted,” she said levelly.  “Dr. Giddings says he is little worse than before.”

A long breath escaped from her hearers.

Strange cunningly contrived to get his story out first.  As he spoke all eyes were bent on the ground.  They could not face the horror of the other eyes.

Pringle was obliged to sit on the sofa to control the trembling of his limbs.  The others stood—­Macfarlane, Colina, and Strange near the door—­Ambrose facing them from in front of the desk.

“You will remember,” Strange began collectedly, “it was I who advised that this man should be admitted to the house.  I thought we could watch him better from the inside.  I have never ceased to watch him from that moment.

“When you all turned in and I was left at the side door I kept my eye on this room.  The last time I looked in I saw that he had disappeared.  He had slipped so softly down the hall I had not heard anything.

“I instantly thought of danger to those up-stairs, and crept up as quickly as I could without making any sound.  I found the door of Mr. Gaviller’s room closed.  I knew Miss Colina had left it open.  I opened it softly, and saw Doane on the bed with his hands at Mr. Gaviller’s throat.”

A shuddering breath escaped from Colina.  The little parson moaned.

“He sprang at me,” Strange went on.  “We rolled on the ground.  I called for help, and you all came.  That is all.”

Ambrose was staggered by the breed’s satanic cleverness.  After this his own story must sound like a pitiful imitation.  He could never tell it now with the same assurance.

“Surely, surely they must know that a true man couldn’t take it so coolly,” he thought.  But they were convinced; he could see it in their faces.