Slowly the situation was borne in upon her understanding. Her mouth opened with a gasp, her eyes widened.
"Why!" she said, jerking her words from a choking throat. "He knows who did it. I told him. It was—me."
The door latch clicked behind her. She turned in the direction whence came the sound, and repeated, as if the interrupter contradicted her:
"Yes, I did it. I killed Brokoski."
Her strength failed her. She sobbed convulsively.
"Yes—I—did—it," she repeated. "I—did—it."
Gilman stared in wonder. Here, then, was the person who had stood in the alley beneath the window that night, whose footprints would have led him to the solution of his mystery, to the end of his clever chain. The problem of her motive for slaying Brokoski alone remained. He longed to ask her, but she had collapsed unconscious in her chair. Turning to the governor he implored light. A word informed him of the accidental killing of Brokoski by a jealous woman who was trying to shoot his vis-à-vis. Then he demanded in tones reproachful:
