know that you can do much--very much--if you will, and can stop Madame
Holymead from being worried. Would you do so if you were told who the
murderer was--I mean he who did really kill the great judge?" Crewe was
genuinely surprised, but his control over his features was so complete
that he did not betray it. "Do you know who Sir Horace Fewbanks's
murderer is?" he asked, in quiet even tones. "Monsieur, I do. I will tell
you the whole story in secret--how do you say?--in confidence, if you
promise me you will help Madame Holymead as I have asked you." "I cannot
enter into a bargain like that," rejoined Crewe. "I do not know whether
Mrs. Holymead may not be implicated--concerned--in what you say."

"Monsieur, she is not!" flashed Gabrielle indignantly. "She knows nothing
about it. What I have to tell you concerns myself alone."

"In that case," rejoined Crewe, "I think you had better speak to me
frankly and freely, and if I can I will help you."

"You are perhaps right," she replied. "I will tell you everything,
provided you give me your word of honour that you will not inform the
police of what I will tell you."

"If you bind me to that promise I do not see how I can help you in the
direction you indicate," said Crewe, after a moment's thought. "If the
police are asked to abandon their inquiries about Mrs. Holymead, they
will naturally wish to know the reason."

"You are quite right," said Gabrielle. "I did not think of that. But if
I tell you everything, and you have to tell the police agents so as to
help Madame, will you promise that the police agents do not come and
arrest _me_?"

"Provided you have not committed murder or been in any way accessory to
it, I think I can promise you that," rejoined Crewe.

"Monsieur, I do not understand you, but I can almost divine your meaning.
Your promise is what you call a guarded one. Nevertheless, I like your
face, and I will trust you."

Gabrielle relapsed into silence for some moments, looking at Crewe
earnestly.

"Monsieur," she said at length, "it is a terrible story I have to relate,
and it is difficult for me to tell a stranger what I know. Nevertheless,
I will begin. I knew the great judge well."

"You knew Sir Horace Fewbanks?" exclaimed Crewe.

"He was--my lover, monsieur."

She brought the last two words out defiantly, with a quick glance
at Crewe to see how he took the avowal. She seemed to find
something reassuring in his answering glance, and she contin