He wanted her to know, no matter what had happened, that this faith and his love for her could not be shaken.

He believed in her, and would always believe in her.
Already he was sure that he knew how Kedsty had died.

The picture of the tragedy had pieced itself together in his mind, bit by bit.

While he slept, Marette and a man were down in the big room with the Inspector of Police.

The climax had come, and Kedsty was struck a blow--in some unaccountable way--with his own gun.