He had not been
the first to laugh.
"Of course I don't, my dear fellow."
"I wish you would sit down again. That's better. So you know it is some
one else?"
"So far as one can know anything."
"And you are going to try to bring it home to this man?"
"I don't know. The police may save me the trouble. I believe they are on
the same scent at last. Meanwhile, I have given him as fair a warning as
a man could wish."
Severino lay back yet again in silence and deep twilight. His breath
came quickly. A shiver seemed to pass through the bed.
"You needn't have done that," he whispered at last.
"I thought it was the fair thing to do."
"Yet you needn't have done it--because--your first idea was right!"
[Illustration: "I'll tell you who I thought it was at first," said he,
heartily.]
"Right?" echoed Langholm, densely. "My first idea was--right?"
"You said you first thought it was I who killed--her husband."
"It couldn't have been!"
"But it was."
Langholm got back to his feet. He could conceive but one explanation of
this preposterous statement. Severino's sickness had extended to his
brain. He was delirious.
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