“Poison!” echoed Dan, startled out of his composure, for he was far from expecting such a word, “the doctor —”

“No doctor can do me any good,” sobbed Curberry lifting his haggard face, and looking up with wild, despairing eyes, “there is no antidote to this drug I have taken. It is painless more or less, and in an hour I shall be dead, as it works but slowly. Time enough for me to speak.”

“Let me get a doctor,” insisted Halliday, for so distraught did the man look that he was not surprised that the servant had been uncomfortable, “you must not die without —”

Curberry struggled to his feet, and laid hands on his visitor. “No, no! I am ready to die,” he said in a harsh, strained voice; “why should I be kept alive to be hanged — to be disgraced — to be-”

“Then you admit —”

“I admit everything in this — this,” he touched a few loose sheets of paper lying on the desk, “this confession. Like Penn, I have made one.”

“You must have a doctor,” said Halliday, and ran to the bell.

Curberry, with a wonderful strength, seeing how ill he looked, rose swiftly, and sprang after him. “If you call a doctor, I shall shoot myself,” he said, hoarsely, and pulled out a small revolver. “I would rather die by means of the poison I have taken, since it is more painless. But sooner than be taken by the police, I shall shoot myself — and you too — and you too.”

Halliday waved aside this threat. “You won’t see the police —”

“The doctor would try and save me,” insisted Curberry, fiercely, “and I will not be saved only to be hanged. Stay here and listen to me. I have something to say. Touch the button of the bell and I shoot!” As he spoke, he levelled the revolver. “Quick, quick, what will you do?”

“Have your own way,” agreed Halliday, and moved to the desk, where he sat down on a convenient chair. Curberry, with a groan, returned to his seat, and laid the revolver on the blotting-paper, ready for instant use should necessity arise. Even as yet he did not wholly trust Halliday.

And there was cause for this suspicion. Since Dan was unarmed, he could do nothing against a man with a quick-firing weapon, but he made up his mind to snatch at the revolver the moment Curberry was off his guard. Yet, even as he decided upon this course, he said to himself that it was foolish. The man’s recovery, supposing a doctor did arrive, meant the man’s arrest, and in Dan’s opinion, as in Curberry’s, death was better than disgrace. It was a most uncomfortable situation, but Halliday did not see anything to do but to listen to what his host had to say. The poor wretch had poisoned himself, and was keeping all help at bay with his revolver. He would be dead in an hour, or half an hour, as he hinted, so the best thing was to hear his story in the hope that by its means those who had brought him to this pass, could be punished. But it was a weird experience to sit beside a tormented man, who declined to be saved from a tragic death.

“Did Queen Beelzebub give you the poison?” asked Halliday, shivering at the grey pinched look on Curberry’s face.

“Long ago; long ago; not now,” muttered the man, groaning. “Every member of the Society of Flies has this poison to escape arrest, should there be danger. It is a painless poison, more or less, and acts slowly, and — but I have told you all this before. There is not much time,” he pressed his hands on his heart, “while I retain my strength and my senses, listen!”

“But where is this woman you call Queen Beelzebub?” demanded Dan, looking round anxiously. “I saw her arrive in an aeroplane.”

“She did; she came to tell me that you knew all about our society.”

“You belong to it?”

“Yes, curse it! and those who dragged me into the matter. I was getting on all right in the law, when I was tempted and fell.”

“Your uncle and your cousin —”

“Yes, yes!” broke in Curberry, with another groan; “she said that if I joined the society they could be got rid of. They were got rid of because I wished for the title and the money.”

“But for what reason?”

“So that I could marry Lillian. Moon refused to listen to me so long as I was merely a struggling barrister. But when I became wealthy, and — and — oh, this pain! The poison is a lie like all the rest of the business. She declared it was painless, and now — and now —” He broke off, to wipe the perspiration from his face.

Dan half rose. “Let me call assistance. It may not be too late —”

Curberry pointed his revolver at him as he moved.

“It is too late,” he said, setting his teeth, “if I do not die, I must face the worst. You — you have brought me to this.”

“I!” echoed Halliday, sitting down again, “in what way?”

“You meddled and meddled, and — and you sent that telegram.”

“I did not.”

“Then your meddling has brought the police into the matter. That telegram may have been sent by a friend or an enemy; in either case it is true, for all is discovered. I was —” Curberry gasped with pain again, and moistened his dry lips. “I was sitting with it, wondering if it was best to end things or to wait and see if the warning was a true one. Then she came in through yonder door,” he nodded towards the entrance from the terrace into the library. “she told me that you — that you — oh — oh!” he groaned and rocked himself from side to side, yet kept a grip on the revolver, lest Dan should call or ring for assistance, or endeavour to secure the weapon.

“So you took the poison?” said Halliday, wondering how he could manage to evade being shot and yet summon a doctor.

“When she said that all was known, I did. Then she — she —”

“Queen Beelzebub, you mean?”

“Curse her, yes! Like Eve she tempted me, and like Adam I fell.”

“Where is she?”

“Up in Penn’s old rooms, searching for any further confessions he may have left. Oh,” Curberry rocked and moaned, “I thought when I snatched it from you, and burnt it, that all evidence was destroyed.”

“I saved a few sheets.”

“Do they contain mention of my name?”

“Yes. They do, and —”

“I thought so. I thought so. It’s just as well that I took the poison. The title and money I paid such a price to obtain will go to my cousin, who is at Oxford — a young fool, with no brains. Oh, to lose all, when everything was so bright. I could have married Lillian and served my country, and —”

“You could not have married Lillian,” interrupted Dan, positively, “for she loves me and me only. As to serving your country, how could you with an easy conscience, when you have broken its law by taking the lives of your uncle and cousin?”

“I did not. The society saw to that,” gasped Curberry with a twisted grin.

“You engaged the society to end their lives, you — you — murderer.”

“Don’t call names,” moaned the man, “at least I have not murdered you, although I have every reason to. You meddled with matters which do not concern you.”

“I meddled in matters which concern every honest man who loves law and order, Lord Curberry,” said Dan sternly; “apart from the death of Sir Charles Moon, which I was bound to avenge for Lillian’s sake, it was my duty to stop this wholesale murder. Perhaps you had Moon killed yourself.”

“I didn’t; I didn’t. It was to my interest that he should live, for if he had I should have been married to his daughter by this time. Queen Beelzebub murdered him because he was offered a chance of belonging to the society and refused.”

“In that,” said Dan, still sternly, “acting as an honest man.”

“He acted as a foolish man. For learning too much, he sent for Durwin to reveal what he knew. Penn found out his intended treachery, and told the Queen. She came — you saw her when she came — and she killed him.”

“She killed Durwin?”

“Yes,” gasped Curberry, who was growing whiter and more haggard every moment.

“And Marcus Penn?”

“I killed him. I had to, or be killed myself. He betrayed too much to you.”

“Only out of fear,” said Dan, looking at the murderer more with pity than with anger, for he was suffering greatly.

“Not even fear should have made him reveal anything about the scent. He confessed his folly and was doomed to death. I went away on that day, and then came back secretly, having ordered Penn to meet me by the ornamental water, to speak about the society. He suspected something, because he wrote that confession and let Lillian know where it was concealed. But he came, and I managed to stupefy him with the Sumatra scent, after which I thrust him under water, and when I was sure he was dead, I got away secretly, returning openly to hear that his body had been found.”

“You wicked wretch,” said Dan, scarcely able to restrain his disgust, although he felt he should not be too hard on one already being severely punished for his crimes.

“Don’t call names,” said Curberry, with an attempt at a laugh, “after all, I am better than you think, since I am trying to save you. I want you to live and marry Lillian, and use this confession,” he laid his hands on the loose sheets of paper, “from Queen Beelzebub, so that you can put an end to her wicked doings. Hide the papers when she comes back, or she will destroy them.”

As this was very probable, Dan stretched out his hand for the papers. Curberry feverishly gathered them together, speaking in a halting manner, as he did so. “Wait till I put them together,” he said, painfully; “this is a full account of my connection with the society and its evil doings. It accounts for the death of Moon, of Durwin, of Penn, and of myself. But take care, Halliday, for Queen Beelzebub will not give in without a fight.”

“She can do nothing,” said Dan, watching Curberry pinning the loose papers together. “Laurance holds what remains of Penn’s confession, and will inform the police shortly. If you would only let me get a doctor.”

“No, no, no! I refuse to live and face the reward of my wickedness. I prefer to pay the cost of my folly in joining the society. My name is disgraced, but I won’t be on earth to suffer for the disgrace. That brainless young fool who succeeds me will not trouble so long as he gets the money and the title, which he is certain to. But marry Lillian, and take care of her. Queen Beelzebub will strike at you through her.”

“She dare not while I hold the confession of Penn,” said Dan, grimly; “sooner or later she shall stand in the dock.”

“That she never will, believe me. She has a means of escape if the worst comes to the worst. Oh,” Curberry half rose, and then fell back in his chair, “the end is coming; my eyes are growing dim, and — and — and — ah,” he uttered a shriek, “save yourself!” and with a shaking hand he grasped the revolver.

As Curberry’s eyes were looking past him, Dan, with the subconscious instinct of self-preservation, had just time to rise and swerve to one side, when a hand grazed his shoulder. The young man gripped his chair, and swung it up as a barrier between himself and a stout woman, who was immediately behind him. She was dressed in a long, black cloak, with a close-fitting cloth cap, and wore a heavy veil of the motor style, with pieces of mica let in as eye-holes. Not a word did she say, but seeing Dan’s action, drew back with a deep, indrawn breath like the hiss of a baffled snake.

............