Sir Nigel went to bed.  Here Borkins saw his life’s opportunity of getting even.  He knew, too, of Miss Brellier’s revolver—­must have known, else why should this particular instrument be used upon this particular night, in place of the usual type of revolver which Brellier’s guards carried, and by which poor Collins undoubtedly met his death?  So we will take it that he knew of this little instrument here, and upon hearing of Wynne’s proposed investigations, he dashed to the back kitchen of the Towers—­which, was rarely used by the other servants, as being, so one of them told me, ’so dark and damp that it fair gave ’em the creeps.’  Therefore Borkins had his way unmolested, and it did not take him long, knowing the turnings of the underground passage—­as he did from constant use—­to communicate with Withersby Hall.  To which guard he told his tale I do not know, but, since we have taken the whole crowd—­we’ll find out later.  Anyway, he must have told someone else of his desire for private vengeance.  And the thing worked.  When poor Wynne met his death, it was at the point of a pistol which had lain unused in the secretaire at Withersby Hall for some little time.  I have not been able to find the actual spot where the body of Wynne and, later on, that of Collins was first concealed, but I have no doubt that they were brought from that spot to be discovered by us.  It was very necessary for the body of Wynne to be discovered, since the bullet in his brain was fired from Miss Brellier’s revolver.  It was all part of the plot against Sir Nigel.  How bitter was that plot is evidenced by the removal of the bodies to the place they were discovered on the Fens—­no very pleasant job for any man.”

Cleek whirled suddenly upon Borkins, who stood with bent head and pallid face, biting his lips and twisting his hands together, while Cleek’s voice broke the perfect silence of the court.  But thus taken by surprise, he lifted his head, and his mouth opened.

The judge raised his hand.

“Is this true, my man?” he demanded.

Borkins’s face went an ugly purplish-red.  For a moment it looked as though he were going to have an apoplectic fit.

“Yes—­damn you all—­yes!” he replied venomously.  “That’s how I did it—­though Gawd alone knows how he come to find it out!  But the game’s up now, and it’s no more use a-lyin’.”

“Never a truer word spoken,” returned Cleek, with a little triumphant smile.  “I must admit, your Lordship, that upon that one point I was a little shaky.  Borkins has irrefutably proved that my theory was correct.  I must say I am indebted to him.”  Again the little smile looped up one corner of his face.  “And I have but just a little bit more of the tale to tell, and then—­I must leave the rest of it in your infinitely more capable hands.