“A position like this is necessarily disagreeable,” she argued, “but I have confidence in Mr. Tallente.  Remember, this article was written nine years ago, Stephen, and though for twenty-four hours it may make things unpleasant, I feel sure that it won’t do nearly the harm you imagine.  And think what a confession to make!  That man, who aims at being a Cabinet Minister, sits here in this room and admits that he bribed Mr. Tallente’s secretary with five thousand pounds to steal the manuscript out of his safe.  How do you think that will go down with the public?”

“A certain portion of the public, I am afraid,” Tallente said gravely, “will say that I discovered the theft—­and killed Palliser.”

“Killed Palliser!” Nora repeated incredulously.  “I never heard such rubbish!”

“Palliser certainly disappeared on the evening of the day when he parted with the manuscript to Miller,” Tallente went on, “and has never been seen or heard of since.”

“But there must be some explanation of that,” Dartrey observed.

There was a short silence, significant of a curious change in the atmosphere.  Tallente’s silence grew to possess a queer significance.  The ghost of rumours to which neither had ever listened suddenly forced its way back into the minds of the other two.  Dartrey was the first to collect himself.

“Tallente,” he said, “as a private person I have no desire to ask you a single question concerned with your private life, but we have come to something of a crisis.  It is necessary that I should know the worst.  Is there anything else Miller could bring up against you?”

“To the best of my belief, nothing,” Tallente replied calmly

“That is not sufficient,” Dartrey persisted.  “Have you any knowledge, Tallente, which the world does not share, of the disappearance of this man Palliser?  It is inevitable that if you discovered his treachery there should have been hard words.  Did you have any scene with him?  Do you know more of his disappearance than the world knows?”

“I do,” Tallente replied.  “You shall share that knowledge with me to a certain extent.  I had another cause for quarrel with Palliser to which I do not choose to refer, but on my arrival home that night I summoned him from the house and led him to an open space.  I admit that I chose a primitive method of inflicting punishment upon a traitor.  I intended to thrash Palliser, a course of action in which I ask you, Dartrey, to believe, as a man of honour, I was justified.  I struck too hard and Palliser went over the cliff.”

Neither Nora nor Dartrey seemed capable of speech.  Tallente’s cool, precise manner of telling his story seemed to have an almost paralysing effect upon them.

“Afterwards,” Tallente continued, “I discovered the theft of that document.  A faithful servant of mine, and I, searched for Palliser’s body, risking our lives in vain, as it turns out, in the hope of recovering the manuscript.  The body was neither in the bay below nor hung up anywhere on the cliff.  One of two things, then, must have happened.  Either Palliser’s body must have been taken out by the tide, which flows down the Bristol Channel in a curious way, and will never now be recovered, or he made a remarkable escape and decided, under all the circumstances, to make a fresh start in life.”