Spencer Ellersby, well-dressed, nonchalant and languid, entered the room with a smile on his face, which faded quickly when he found there was no one present to receive him.

"I thought you said Miss Penfold was here," he observed sharply, turning to the footman who was showing him in.

"So she was, sir," stammered the servant in some confusion, "and two gentlemen."

"Gentlemen!" muttered Ellersby to himself, taking a chair, "some of those empty-headed men about town, I suppose."

"I think Miss Penfold must have gone up to the drawing-room, sir," said the servant, turning towards the door. "Will I take your name up, sir?"

"No," replied Ellersby, with a yawn. "I want to see Sir Rupert just now, so I'll wait here till he comes in, and go upstairs afterwards."

"Very good, sir," said the footman, and was just retiring when Sir Rupert, looking jaded and worried, entered the room, upon which Ellersby rose to his feet, and the footman going out, closed the door behind him.

"Ah, Sir Rupert," he said carelessly, "I am so glad to see you, as I thought I'd have to wait for some time. I must apologise for coming into this room, but your servant said Miss Penfold was here."

"Have you seen her?" said Sir Rupert, moodily, taking his seat in front of the desk and swinging round the seat so as to face his visitor.

"No, he made a mistake. She is up in the drawing-room, so I am going to see her later on."

"Meanwhile?" demanded the baronet.

"I am going to see you," finished Ellersby, smoothly, resuming his seat.

Balscombe raised his eyebrows.

"What about?"

"A very important subject--marriage."

"Whose marriage?"

"My own."

"What have I to do with your marriage?"

"A great deal," replied Ellersby calmly, "because I want to marry Miss Penfold."

"Impossible," said Balscombe pointedly, "quite impossible."

"How so?" asked the other coolly. "I have a good position, plenty of money, and my character is good."

"Your moral character?" sneering.

"Oh, that," with a laugh, "is no better nor worse than other young men, so I would like your answer. Will you favour my suit?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because, in the first place, my ward is going to marry Myles Desmond."

"Marry Myles Desmond!" replied Ellersby, with a sneer. "A man lying in prison under a charge of murder."

"He will be proved innocent of that charge."

"By whom?"

"'That's my business," retorted Balscombe, with a scowl Ellersby laughed in a most irritating manner.

"So that is your first objection," he said lightly. "Pray what is your second?"

For answer Balscombe turned to his desk, and unlocking a drawer, took therefrom a bundle of old letters tied with a blue ribbon.

"This is my second objection," he said, holding them up. "Perhaps you recognise these letters?"

Spencer Ellersby turned pale and half rose from his seat.

"Where did you find them?"

"In the secret drawer of this desk," replied the baronet. "My wife, thinking I did not know the hiding-place, put them there for safety; but her father told me about the secret drawer when he gave me the desk, and one day I opened it idly, not expecting to find anything, when I found these."

Ellersby laughed discordantly.

"And what are those wonderful letters?"

"You need not pretend ignorance," said the baronet coldly. "These are letters written by you to my wife at Folkestone under her maiden name of Amelia Dicksfall, and which prove that you were her lover long before she met me."

"I acknowledge it," said Ellersby insolently. "And what have you to say about it?"

"Simply this," replied Balscombe, rising, "that you may thank God that I do not kill you where you sit. But my wife proved to be such a worthless woman she is not fit to be defended, and knowing this, you have the daring to ask me for my ward's hand. Do you think I would give her to you, a scoundrel, a profligate?--never!"

"I think you will," said Ellersby coldly, "for the very good and sufficient reason that I can force you to."

"How so?"

"You know well enough," sneered the other. "If the police ask me who committed the Jermyn Street murder, I can tell them who did it--Rupert Balscombe."

"You scoundrel!--do you mean to say I killed my wife?"

"I can swear it--and I will, too, if you don't give me your ward!"

"It's a cursed lie!" cried the baronet, white with fury; "where are your proofs?"

"Open that hiding place, and you'll find them."

Sir Rupert gave a stifled cry, and staggered back against the desk, while Ellersby looked at him with a smile of triumph. The three listeners in the other room were standing close to the door, with greedy ears drinking in every word of this strange conversation.

The baronet with an effort recovered himself and, turning to the desk, touched the secret spring and took down the carving. There lay the locket, the chain, and the fatal arrow.

"There is the locket you wrenched off your wife's neck on that night," said Ellersby, pitilessly, "and there is the poisoned arrow-head with which you committed the crime!"

Balscombe took out the objects and looked at them vacantly.

"What devilry is this?" he said, fiercely. "This is the locket I know--the locket that contains your hair and your picture, curse you! But the arrow-head--I know nothing of that."

"Bah!--who would believe you?" replied the other, mockingly; "it is in your secret drawer!"

"How did you know this hiding-place?" demanded Balscombe.

"I never said I knew it."

"No--but you said your evidence was in there, so you must have seen these things before. I believe you put the arrow-head there yourself."

"Did I, indeed?" said Ellersby with a sneer. "Where would I get the arrow-head?--don't blame me for a crime you committed yourself."

"I did not commit it!" shouted Balscombe in a frenzy. "I acknowledge I knew of my wife's intended elopement, and came up from Berkshire to prevent it. I was too late, and went to Calliston's rooms to see him. I missed the door in the fog, and when I found it, the first thing I saw was my guilty wife leaving t efhe house. I followed her, and caught up to her--she shrieked, and I gave way to my just anger. I knew she had this locket, and thought it contained Calliston's portrait, not yours, so wrenched it off her neck to make sure. She ran away across the street and I lost her in the fog. I swear I saw no more of her on that night till I read of her death."

"You knew it was your wife that was dead?"

"I was not certain. I heard the Seamew had sailed with Lady Balscombe on board, and thought that the dead woman was some wretched street-walker with whom my wife had changed clothes--but I was not certain she was dead till I saw Lena Sarschine on board the Seamew--then I knew my wife was the victim of the Jermyn Street tragedy, but I swear I did not kill her."

Ellersby laughed scoffingly.

"Of course it is to your interest to say that--but who will believe you with such strong evidence against you?"

"Then I suppose you mean to denounce me?" said the baronet coldly.

"Not if you agree to give me the hand of May Penfold."

"I cannot force her inclinations."

"No--but you are her guardian and can influence her."

"If I refuse?"

"You do so at your own risk."

"And that risk?"

"Means hanging to you!" said Ellersby, brutally.

The two men stood looking fixedly at one another, and for a few moments there was a dead silence, while the three listeners waited with beating hearts for the end of the conversation which seemed to promise the solution of this extraordinary mystery.

Balscombe remained for a time in deep thought, and then looked up with a look of determination in his eyes.

"I decline to accede to your demand," he said, firmly.

"Then you must take the consequence."

"I am prepared to do so."

Ellersby paused for a minute.

"Will you tell me the reason for your decision?"

"First, because I am innocent of the crime you accuse me of and second, I believe you placed this poisoned arrow-head here in ............