If the end, it was a sad end, and Mr.Gryce, whose forehead had taken on a deep line between the eyebrows, slowly rose and took his stand by the young man, who looked ready to fall.

The inspector, on the contrary, did not move.
He had begun a tattoo with his fingers on the table, and seemed bound to beat it out, when another sudden cry broke from the young man's lips: "What is that ?" he demanded, with his eyes fixed on the door, and his whole frame shaking violently.
"Nothing," began the inspector, when the door suddenly opened and the figure of a woman white as a wraith and wonderful with a sort of holy passion darted from the grasp of a man who sought to detain her, and stood before them, palpitating with a protest which for a moment she seemed powerless to utter.
It was Adams's young, invalid wife, whom he had left three hours before at Belleville.

She was so frail of form, so exquisite of feature, that she would have seemed some unearthly visitant but for the human anguish which pervaded her look and soon found vent in this touching cry: "What is he saying?
Oh, I know well what he is saying.

He is saying that he killed his brother, that he held the dagger which rid the world of a monster of whose wickedness none knew.

But you must not heed him.