He spoke more languidly than indignantly, knowing that he would thus provoke her further.
"But yes," she insisted; "it is as I tell you."
"It amuses people to talk," murmured the Comte indifferently. "It would be beneath me to take such wild accusations seriously."
"You do not understand." Mirelle bent forward, her dark eyes flashing. "It is not the idle talk of those in the streets. It is the police."
"The police—ah?"
The Comte sat up, alert once more.
Mirelle nodded her head vigorously several times.
"Yes, yes. You comprehend me—I have friends every where. The Prefect himself—" She left the sentence unfinished, with an eloquent shrug of the shoulders.
"Who is not indiscreet where a beautiful woman is concerned?" murmured the Count politely.
"The police believe that you killed Madame Kettering. But they are wrong."