She entered the sitting-room cautiously, moving slowly in the darkness, and stole up to the door behind which Lucian and the detective were hiding.
The position of this she knew well, because it was opposite the window.
"Are you there?" whispered Mrs. Clear nervously.
"Yes," replied Link in the same tone. "Myself, Mr. Denzil, and two policemen.
Keep the man in talk, and find out, if possible, if he committed the murder."
"I hope he won't kill me," muttered Mrs. Clear. "He will, if he knows I've betrayed him."
"That will be all right," said Link in a low, impatient voice. "We will rush out should he prove dangerous.
Get over by the window, so that we can see a little of you and Wrent when you talk."
"No! no!
Don't leave the door open!
He'll see you!"
"He won't, Mrs. Clear. We'll keep back in the darkness.
If he shows a light, we'll rush him before he can use a weapon or clear out.
Get back to the window!"
"I hope I'll get through with this all right," said Mrs. Clear nervously. "It's an awful situation," and she moved stealthily across the floor to the window.
There was a faint gaslight outside, and the watchers could see her figure and profile black against the slight illumination.
All was still and silent as the grave when they began their dreary watch.
The minutes passed slowly in the darkness, and there was an unbroken silence save for the breathing of the watchers and the restless movements of Mrs. Clear near the window.
They saw her pass and repass the square of glass, when, unexpectedly, she paused, rigid and silent.
A stealthy step was ascending the distant stair, and pacing cat-like along the passage.
Lucian felt a tremor pass through his body as the steps of the murderer sounded nearer and clearer.
They paused at the door, and then moved towards the window where Mrs. Clear was standing.
"Is that you?" said a low voice, which came weirdly out of the darkness.
"Yes. I have been waiting for the last half hour, Mr. Wrent," replied the woman in nervous tones.
"I am glad you have come." "I am glad, also," said the voice harshly, "as I wish to know why you propose to betray me."
"Because you won't pay me the money," said Mrs. Clear boldly. "And if you don't give it to me this very night I'll go straight and tell the police all about my husband."
"I'll kill you first!" cried the man with a snarl, and made a dash at the woman.
With a cry for help she eluded him and sprang towards the bedroom door for protection.
The next moment the four watchers were in the room wrestling with Wrent.
When he felt the grip of their hands, and knew that he was betrayed, he cried out savagely, and fought with the strength of two men.
However, he could do little against his four adversaries, and, worn out with the struggle, collapsed suddenly on to the dusty floor with a motion of despair.
"Lost! lost!" he muttered. "All lost!"
Breathing hard, Link slipped back the cover of the dark lantern and turned the light on to the face of the prisoner.
Out of the darkness started a pale face with white hair and long white beard.
Lucian uttered a cry. "Mr. Vrain!" he said, shrinking back, "Mr. Vrain!"
"Look again," said Link, passing his hand rapidly over the face and head of the prostrate man.
Denzil did look, and uttered a second cry more startling than the first.
Wig and beard and venerable looks were all gone, and he recognised at once who Wrent was.
"Jabez Clyne!—Jabez Clyne!" he exclaimed in astonishment.
"Yes!" cried Link triumphantly, "Jabez Clyne, conspirator and assassin!"
CHAPTER XXXI A STRANGE CONFESSION
"I, Jabez Clyne, write this confession in my prison cell, of my own free will, and without coercion from any one; partly because I know that the evidence concerning my share in the Vrain conspiracy is strong against me, and partly because I wish to exonerate my daughter Lydia.
"She is absolutely innocent of all knowledge concerning the feigned death of her husband and his actual existence in a private lunatic asylum; and on the strength of this confession of mine—which will fix the guilt of the matter on the right persons—I demand that she shall be set free.
It is not fair that she should suffer, for I and Ferruci planned and carried out the whole conspiracy.
Well, Ferruci has punished himself, and soon the law will punish me, so it is only justice that Lydia should be discharged from all blame.
On this understanding I set out the whole story of the affair—how it was thought of, how it was contrived, and how it was carried out.
Now that Count Ferruci is dead, this confession can harm no one but myself, and may be the means of setting Lydia free.
So here I begin my recital.
"I was always an unlucky man, and the end of my life proves to be as unfortunate as the beginning.
I was born in London some fifty and more years ago, in a Whitechapel slum, of drunken and profligate parents, so it is little to be wondered at that my career has been anything but virtuous or respectable.