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spying. If I caught a glimpse, as I did, it was unavoidable. They were talking fast, those two—this man, and the woman.”

“Yes. And perhaps—equally unavoidable, do not misunderstand me—you heard what they said?”

Smith hesitated. ‘“Well—as a matter of fact—I did. I heard her tell him———”

With a little cry, Robert Fyfe leaped forward. He pushed the beach-comber aside and stood before Charlie. His face was deathly pale, but his eyes did not falter.

“Drop it,” he said hoarsely. “I can put an end to your investigation here and now. I killed Shelah Fane, and I’m willing to pay for it.”

A shocked silence greeted his words. Calm, unmoved, quite motionless, Chan stared into the man’s face.

“You killed Miss Fane?”

“I did.”

“For what reason?”

“I wanted her to come back to me. I couldn’t live without her. I pleaded and begged—and she wouldn’t listen. She laughed at me—she said there wasn’t a chance. She drove me to it—I killed her. I had to do it.”

“You killed her—with what?”

“With a knife I carried as one of the props in the play.”

“Where is it now?”

“I threw it into a swamp on my way to town.”

“You can lead me to the spot?”

“I can try.”

Chan turned away.

Alan Jaynes was on his feet. “Eleven-ten,” he