g behind
some door listening to them? What do you think of these discoveries of
mine being made on the very morning when Mrs. Eustace was taken ill--on
the very day when she died by a poisoner's hand? Do you see your way to
the guilty person? And has mad Miserrimus Dexter been of some assistance
to you, so far?"

I was too violently excited to answer him. The way to the vindication of
my husband's innocence was opened to me at last!

"Where is she?" I cried. "And where is that servant who is in her
confidence?"

"I can't tell you," he said. "I don't know."

"Where can I inquire? Can you tell me that?"

He considered a little. "There is one man who must know where she is--or
who could find it out for you," he said.

"Who is he? What is his name?"

"He is a friend of Eustace's. Major Fitz-David."

"I know him! I am going to dine with him next week. He has asked you to
dine too."

Miserrimus Dexter laughed contemptuously.

"Major Fitz-David may do very well for the ladies," he said. "The ladies
can treat him as a species of elderly human lap-dog. I don t dine with
lap-dogs; I have said, No. You go. He or some of his ladies may be of
use to you. Who are the guests? Did he tell you?"

"There was a French lady whose name I forget," I said, "and Lady
Clarinda--"

"That will do! She is a friend of Mrs. Beauly's. She is sure to
know where Mrs. Beauly is. Come to me the moment you have got your
information. Find out if the maid is with her: she is the easiest to
deal with of the two. Only make the maid open her lips, and we have
got Mrs. Beauly. We crush her," he cried, bringing his hand down like
lightning on the last languid fly of the season, crawling over the arm
of his chair--"we crush her as I crush this fly. Stop! A question--a
most important question in dealing with the maid. Have you got any
money?"

"Plenty of money."

He snapped his fingers joyously.

"The maid is ours!" he cried. "It's a matter of pounds, shillings, and
pence with the maid. Wait! Another question. About your name? If you
approach Mrs. Beauly in your own character as Eustace's wife, you
approach her as the woman who has taken her place--you make a mortal
enemy of her at starting. Beware of that!"

My jealousy of Mrs. Beauly, smoldering in me all through the interview,
burst into flames at those words. I could resist it no longer--I was
obliged to ask him if my husband had ever loved her.

"Tell me the truth," I said. "Did Eustac