In silence they walked to the house, and it was Charles Turold who led the way to the sitting-room.
"It was here it began," he murmured, glancing round the deserted apartment, "and it seems fitting that the truth should be brought to light in the same place." "Provided that it is the truth," commented his companion.
Charles did not reply.

They had been standing face to face, but he now drew a chair to the table and sat down.

Barrant walked to the door and locked it before seating himself beside him.
"You can begin as soon as you like," he said.
"I think I had better tell you about my own actions, first of all, on that night," said Charles, after a brief silence.

"It will clear the way for what follows.

I was up here that night--the night of the murder." "I know that much," was Barrant's cold comment.
"You suspected it--you did not know it," Charles quickly rejoined.
He remained profoundly silent for a moment, as if meditating his words, and then plunged into his tale.
The account of his own visit to Flint House on the night of the murder he related with details withheld from Sisily.