miliation gathered and rolled down her
cheek, and then, still silent, she took a hairpin from her hair, inserted
one leg of it into a tiny hole quite lost in the ornamental work at the
back of the desk, pushed against a hidden spring, and presto! a small
secret drawer shot forward. In this drawer lay a packet of letters tied
with a ribbon.

"Are these his letters?" he asked.

In utter misery she nodded but did not speak.

"Thanks," he said. "May I take them?"

She put forward her hands helplessly.

"I'm sorry, but, as I said before, a murder isn't a pleasant thing." And he
took the packet from the drawer.

Then, seeing herself beaten at every point, Pussy Wilmott gave way entirely
and wept angrily, bitterly, her face buried in the sofa pillows.

"I'm sorry," repeated M. Paul, and for the first time in the interview he
felt himself at a disadvantage.

"Why didn't I burn them, why didn't I burn them?" she mourned.

"You trusted to that drawer," he suggested.

"No, no, I knew the danger, but I couldn't give them up. They stood for the
best part of my life, the tenderest, the happiest. I've been a weak, wicked
woman!"

"Any secrets in these letters will be scrupulously respected," he assured
her, "unless they have a bearing on this crime. Is there anything you wish
to say before I go?"

"Are you going?" she said weakly. And then, turning to him with
tear-stained face, she asked for a moment to collect herself. "I want to
say this," she went on, "that I didn't tell you the truth about Kittredge
and Martinez. There _was_ trouble between them; he speaks about it in one
of his letters. It was about the little girl at Notre-Dame!"

"You mean Martinez was attentive to her?"

"Yes."

"Did she encourage him?"

"I don't know. She behaved very strangely--she seemed attracted to him and
afraid of him at the same time. Martinez told me what an extraordinary
effect he had on the girl. He said it was due to his magnetic power."

"And Kittredge objected to this?"

"Of course he did, and they had a quarrel. It's all in one of those
letters."

"Was it a serious quarrel? Did Kittredge make any threats?"

"I--I'm afraid he did--yes, I know he did. You'll see it in the letter."

"Do you remember what he said?"

"Why--er--yes."

"What was it?"

She hesitated a moment and then, as though weary of resisting, she replied:
"He told Martinez that if he didn't leave this girl alone he would break
his damned head for hi