was instantaneous.  Like one in a dream, I laid down the pistol, and came away.  I was saved, but at what a cost!  No one, I think, saw me come or go.  I was afterward puzzled to know what became of the pistol, and of the will which lay on the desk when I was there.  These matters have since been explained.  Philip Crawford is as much a criminal as I. I shot a man, but he robbed the dead.  He has confessed and made restitution, so he merits no punishment.  In the nature of things, I cannot do that, but I can at least cheat the gallows.”

With these words, Mr. Porter put something into his mouth and swallowed it.

Several people started toward him in dismay, but he waved them back, saying: 

“Too late.  Good-by, all.  If possible, do not let my wife know the truth.  Can’t you tell her—­I died of heart failure—­or—­ something like that?”

The poison he had taken was of quick effect.  Though a doctor was telephoned for at once, Mr. Porter was dead before he came.

Everything was now made clear, and Fleming Stone’s work in West Sedgwick was done.

I was chagrined, for I felt that all he had discovered, I ought to have found out for myself.

But as I glanced at Florence, and saw her lovely eyes fixed on me, I knew that one reason I had failed in my work was because of her distracting influence on it.

“Take me away from here,” she said, and I gently led her from the library.

We went into the small drawing-room, and, unable to restrain my eagerness, I said

“Tell me, dear, have you broken with Hall?”

“Yes,” she said, looking up shyly into my face.  “I learned from his own lips the story of the Brooklyn girl.  Then I knew that he really loves her, but wanted to marry me for my fortune.  This knowledge was enough for me.  I realize now that I never loved Gregory, and I have told him so.”

“And you do love somebody else?” I whispered ecstatically.  “Oh, Florence!  I know this is not the time or the place, but just tell me, dear, if you ever love any one, it will be—­”

“You” she murmured softly, and I was content.