"He swam across the river and went down to Cove Castle. We knew all the time he was there in hiding."

"Who knew?"

"Myself, Lord Conniston, Miss Berengaria and Miss Malleson."

"So you played with Michael?" said Mrs. Gilroy, drawing a breath.

"Yes. Miss Malleson and Miss Plantagenet both knew he was not the true Bernard. Your hint about your son being like his father showed me who Michael was, and I told the others. Yes, Mrs. Gilroy, I allowed Michael to sign the false will, so as to trap Beryl. But, believe me, had I known Beryl intended to poison your son, I should not have allowed the matter to go so far."

"You could do nothing else," said Mrs. Gilroy, sadly. "Both Michael and myself have suffered. I was deceived by a false marriage, and the sins of the father have been visited on the child."

"That is true enough," said Durham. "But for the sin of Walter Gore, Michael, with his wonderful resemblance to Bernard, would not have been born, and Beryl would not have been able to plot as he did."

"Well! well! He is an exile and has been punished."

"When you can prove his guilt, as I suppose you intend to do," said the lawyer, grimly, "I'll do my best to have him brought back and hanged.

You will be pleased at that."

Mrs. Gilroy laughed in a hollow manner, and cast a strange look at the lawyer. "I should be pleased indeed," she said, "but there's no such luck. Hanging is not Beryl's dukkeripen."

"That's a gypsy word."

"I was found and brought up by gypsies," said Mrs. Gilroy, indifferently, "although I am not of Romany blood. But I learned a few secrets from the Romany," added Mrs. Gilroy, her eyes flashing, "and one of them relating to drabbing--if you know what that means--may come in useful this day."

"What does drabbing mean?"

"It has to do with drows," said Mrs. Gilroy, laughing and rocking. "I daresay you'll know the meaning of both words before the end of this day." And she began to sing softly:--

"'The Romany cha, And the Romany chal, Shall jaw tasulor, To drab the bawlor, And dook the gry.'"

Durham thought that her illness had affected her head. He did not say anything, but resolved to get her examination over as quickly as possible. A clerk entered at the moment, carrying a typewriting machine, which he set down on a small table near at hand.

"I think it will be best that your words should be taken down by the machine," said Durham, turning to Mrs. Gilroy, "as the writer can keep up with your speech."

"As you please," said Mrs. Gilroy, coolly. "I have to sign my statement in the presence of witnesses, you and this young man."

"But why do you----"

"There, there," said the woman, impatiently, "don't I tell you I have very little strength left. Are you ready?"

"Yes, madam," said the clerk, who was addressed.

"Then don't interrupt. I am about to tell you strange things," and she began forthwith, the clerk taking down all she said as quickly as she spoke. Durham, pencil in hand, made a note occasionally.

"I am a foundling," said Mrs. Gilroy, smoothly and swiftly. "I was picked up by some gypsies called Lovel, in the New Forest. I was with them till I came of age. I was then a pretty girl. In our wanderings we came to Hurseton. There I saw Walter Gore at a fair. I did not know he was married, as we stopped at Hurseton only a short time. We went away.

Walter followed and said he loved me. He married me at last. We went abroad--then came back to London. When my child, Michael, was born, I learned the truth, for Walter had deserted me. I went down to Hurseton to see Sir Simon. He sent me to the States with Michael, my son. Walter sent me money."

"This is slightly different to what Michael said," remarked Durham. "I understood that you never saw Sir Simon till you returned from the States."

"Michael doesn't know everything," said Mrs. Gilroy, impatiently. "I tell my own story in my own way. Do not interrupt. I remained in the States for a long time. Then Walter died, and his true wife also. I came to see Sir Simon again. He was sorry for me, and offered to make me the housekeeper at Gore Hall, which should have been my home, but he insisted that Michael should return to the States. My boy did so, in charge of some friends. Sir Simon promised to give me five hundred a year when he died, so that I could help my boy. He only left me one hundred, the mean villain! I supported my son out of my wages. He grew weary of the States and came to England. Sir Simon was angry, but he got him a situation in London, on condition that the boy never came to Hurseton. That was why no one knew there was any one resembling Sir Bernard so closely. Well, in London Michael fell in with Julius Beryl----"

"I know all that," said Durham, quickly. "Michael told me. I know he was employed by Beryl to impersonate Bernard so that Sir Simon's anger should be aroused."

"Well, then, you know a good deal," said Mrs. Gilroy, "but not all. No, indeed," she added, smiling strangely, "not all."

"Tell me the events of that night, and how Beryl killed Sir Simon."

Mrs. Gilroy laughed again. "I am coming to that. You will be much surprised when I tell you all. Bernard was in town as a soldier; Beryl got Michael to masquerade. I never knew it was my own son who courted Jane Riordan. Had I known, I should have put a stop to the business. I really thought from the description given, that Jane's lover was Bernard. I wanted Sir Simon, whom I told, to throw over Bernard and let my son have the property. He would have done so, but that Michael had forged a check----"

"I know about that also."

"Very good. We will pa.s.s that," said the woman. "Well, Sir Simon was angry. I saw there was no chance for my boy, and cast about how else to get the money for him. Beryl informed me that he intended by means of the Red Window and Jerry to lure Bernard to the Square, in the hope that when he saw the red light he would come up and have a quarrel with his grandfather."

"What about?" asked Durham.

"About Bernard's supposed courting of the housemaid. That was why Beryl employed my son to masquerade. He knew that Sir Simon was a proud man, and would not readily forgive such a thing. He knew Sir Simon was regretting his quarrel with Bernard, and wished to give it renewed life.

Well, then, Beryl arranged to go to the theatre. He said he would come round after ten or near eleven to see if the old man had quarrelled with Bernard. He hoped that he would be able to get the order to turn Bernard out. He did not know, though, at what time Bernard would arrive. But when he did, I was to open the door to him."

"Jerry's whistle was to be the signal," said the lawyer.

"Yes. Then I was to show Bernard up, and the quarrel would then take place."

"Beryl did not really intend murder, then?"

"Mr. Durham, you will harp on that," said Mrs. Gilroy, impatiently.

"Wait till I speak out. You see how matters were arranged for that night. Miss Randolph and Beryl went to the theatre so that they should not be mixed up in the quarrel."

"But Miss Randolph knew nothing?"

"Of course not. Beryl knew she was friendly to Bernard, and wished her out of the way. For that reason, he took her to the theatre. I then suggested to Sir Simon that probably Bernard knew of the house from you, and might come back. Sir Simon had sent for him to the kitchen, but my son, being afraid, ran away. Sir Simon laughed at the idea of the red lamp, but he did not forbid my arranging it. I got a lamp and placed it before the window. Then I placed across the window a red bandana of Sir Simon's. From the outside the signal could be plainly seen."

"What happened next?" asked Durham, while the typewriter clicked in a most cheerful manner.

"Various things," retorted Mrs. Gilroy, "and not those you expect to hear. I sat downstairs, waiting and working. Sir Simon was in the room with the red light showing through the window. The trap was laid. It only remained for Jerry to bring Bernard to fall into it. Shortly before ten an Italian called."

"Bernard's uncle, Signor Tolomeo?"

"Yes. I knew him, and took him up to Sir Simon, thinking his presence might make the quarrel worse. All Beryl and I wished to do was to prevent Bernard and Sir Simon from becoming reconciled. Well, Tolomeo saw Sir Simon, and while he was with him, my son arrived. I asked him what he was doing there. He told me then that he had been masquerading as Bernard, and informed me about the check. He was afraid of trouble in connection with it, as by means of it, Beryl held him in his power. He came to make a clean breast of it to Sir Simon. I tried to stop him going up----"

"But why?" interrupted the lawyer, quickly.

"I had my own plans, with which Michael's presence interfered," said Mrs. Gilroy, coolly. "However, he would not be overruled, and went up to see Sir Simon. The old man concealed Tolomeo behind a curtain, and then quarrelled with Michael about the check. There was a great row, as Sir Simon threatened to have Michael arrested. In the middle of the quarrel Tolomeo came out. Michael took him for a detective, and fled. He ran out before I could stop him. Then Tolomeo departed also. I went up the stairs and implored Sir Simon not to arrest my son. Then Beryl arrived nearly at the half hour."

"How did he enter?"

"Tolomeo, running after Michael, left the door open. Beryl tried to pacify the old man. I remained in the room all the time----"

"Then you saw the murder."