Who knows--I might even have been
accused. I plead guilty of suppressing the facts."

There was silence in the room. The attorney's eyes were turned upon the
self-confessed perjurer. In them was a question. Gard met their gaze
gravely, without flinching. Field nodded slowly.

"You're right; publicity can only harm," he said at last. "We will see
what can be done. I'll take the proper steps. It can be done legally and
verified by the other witnesses. The butler identifies her, you say.
It's a curious case of retribution. I can't help imagining Mahr's
feelings when he recognized her voice. Is your patient at all dangerous
otherwise?" He addressed himself to the nurse.

"No," she answered. "We've never seen it. Irritable, of course, but not
vicious. I can't imagine her doing such a thing. But you never can tell,
sir--not with this sort."

Field again addressed Gard, whose admission seemed to have exhausted
him. "And the son--knows nothing?"

"Nothing," answered Gard. "He worships his father's memory. He is
engaged, also, to--a very dear little friend of mine--the child of an
old colleague. I want to shield them--both."

"I understand." He nodded his head slowly, lost in thought.

The woman, childishly interested in the grotesque inkwells on the table,
stepped forward and raised one curiously. Her bony hands, of almost
transparent thinness, seemed hardly able to sustain the weight of the
cast bronze. It was hard to believe such a birdlike claw capable of
delivering a stunning blow, or forcibly wielding the deadly knife. She
babbled for a moment in a gentle, not unpleasant voice, while they
watched her, fascinated.

"She's that way most of the time," said the nurse softly. "Just like a
ten-year-old girl--plays with dolls, sir, all day long."

Suddenly her expression changed. Over her smiling wrinkles crept the
whiteness of death. Her eyes seemed to start from her head, her lips
drew back, while her fingers tightened convulsively on the metal
inkstand. The nurse, with an exclamation, stepped forward and caught
her.

There was a gleam of such maniacal fury in the woman's face that Mr.
Field shuddered. "Hardly a safe child to trust even with a doll," he
said. "I fancy the recital has excited her. Hadn't you better take her
away and keep her quiet? And don't let anyone unauthorized by Mr. Gard
or myself have access to her. It will not be wise to allow her delusion
that she was the wife of Victor Mahr to become known