‘I think,’ said I, ‘that I had a right to read the note after all; for, as I guess, the writer was addressing it to me and not to you.’
For a moment Mouraki hesitated; then he shrugged his shoulders, saying:
‘My dear lord, I don’t know whom it is addressed to or what it means. Had the unfortunate lady been allowed to finish it—’
‘We should know more than we do now,’ I interrupted.
‘I was about to say as much. I see she introduced my name; she can, however, have known nothing of any course I might be pursuing.’
‘Unless some one who knew told her.’
‘Who could?’
‘Well, her husband.’
‘Who was killing her?’ he asked, with a scornful smile.
‘He may have told her before, and she may have been trying to forward the information to me.’