"just a moment," leona said eagerly. "suppose i deny that. how are you going to prove that i did so?"

"i am coming to that," lawrence said, lighting a fresh cigarette. "as soon as bruce was in trouble and the plot began to reel off i saw that it was mine. of course there were large varyings in the details, but the scheme was mine. it was even laid on the same spot as my skeleton story. when i grasped that, i knew quite well that somebody must have stolen my plot."

"but why must it have been me?" leona asked.

"well, in the first place, because woman's instinct helped me. my niece said for some time that you were deeply in love with dr. bruce and that she feared for him--item the first. then i recollected telling you some details of my story plot--item the second. i came to the conclusion you had stolen my plot. and you stole it on the very night that i told you the main incidents."

"how did you find that out?" leona cried, startled off her balance.

"glad you admit it," lawrence said calmly. "when i went to look for the synopsis i knew perfectly well that i should not find it. and yet it was there only the day before, as i recollected afterwards. now, how did you get it? the night in question you were only out of the room a little time, and yet in that little time you contrived to lay your hands on my notes."

"this," leona murmured, "this is quite thrilling."

"well, i promise you i shall be more thrilling later on," said lawrence. "i had to settle that part before i went any further. i tried to recall the conversation. how could you have got into my rooms? then it came to me like a flash. a journalist who stood by asked me where i carried my latchkey--a joking suggestion that he would steal my plot. i said that it was in the ticket pocket of my overcoat."

"then i began to understand. you were only a little time from the room. why did you go from the room? ostensibly to see captain gifford off in his new autocar. here was a possible solution. i saw gifford later, and he told me that you had been larking off in his car for twenty minutes--long enough at that time of night to get to my chambers and back easily.

"that is logical, at any rate. but to go further. you borrowed a man's coat to put over your shoulders. and the coat you borrowed was mine with the latchkey in the pocket. that i got from a footman. and when i came to look for my skeleton plot, it was gone. then i knew where i had to search. leona lalage was at the bottom of the corner house mystery. it was her hand that i had to force. once that was done the rest was easy."

"so far you have made it quite plain," leona murmured, "but i fail to see that all the rest was easy."

"easy to me," said lawrence, "whose plot had been stolen. remember it was really i who planned that business of palming the notes on to bruce."

"of course, of course," leona murmured with her hand to her head. "my mind has not been quite so clear for the last few days. go on."

"well, a man had been murdered at the corner house which was not a detail of my plot. i saw that man, and miss lawrence had seen him, too. she saw him, you will remember, one night in one of the windows of the corner house. she saw a struggle go on there. the other man was no doubt balmayne."

leona inclined her head as if in consent.

"afterwards, which is much more to the point, my niece saw leon lalage here. i had better call him your husband, because really there is no denying that. the man was in your house in the morning room, and hetty saw him. after the business of the notes came out and the story of the spanish gipsy was told, i knew perfectly well what had taken place. you had called bruce in to your drunken husband by means of your new motor, with balmayne playing the deaf mute. after bruce was gone you killed the man with a knife you procured at rosser's, in regent street. i find the knife in the dry well behind the house."

leona said nothing. there was a queer, strained look, half of admiration, on her face. but she uttered no protest, no denial.

"now we come to the marvellous evidence against bruce. there you had stolen my plot, body and boots. bruce is poor, so was my hero. you find out all about that picture he bought, and balmayne or somebody--it does not in the least matter who--in the guise of a dutchman puts bruce in possession of ￡200. these notes he places in his pocket.

"later on he is called to the corner house, where he is received by the spanish lady, and then he has to handle a man in the last stage of collapse. the latter part of the plot is your own, and from an artistic point of view, a great improvement on mine. murder and robbery make a fine combination. you had previously arranged the proceedings, the notes and their numbers--adopted or suggested doubtless by you as a precaution--the letter to rené lalage and all to be found on the body. if you can plant those numbered notes on bruce, then he is ruined for all time.

"having gone so far, the rest is easy. and this is where my scheme comes in again. bruce has to take his coat off. in the guise of the spanish lady--a slight variation of my mysterious woman--you hang his coat up carefully in a closet for him. you knew that ￡200 in notes was in that pocket, notes that bruce had come by quite honestly. the rest is easy."

leona bent forward to listen. even charlton seemed to have forgotten his troubles for the moment. a beam of light illuminated his sombre face.

"go on," said leona. "nothing seems to be concealed from you. now please tell me what happens next."

"the simplest thing in the world. you took the packet of notes from bruce's pocket and supplied their place with the forty ￡5 notes, the numbers of which were sent out in the letter which leon lalage had intended for his brother. and when bruce went away he had that damning evidence in his pocket. and that is how that vile, shameless thing was done."