"We know much more than you think, Mrs. Wilford," exclaimed Doyle, menacingly. "We have not been idle. There are more sources of information open to the police than maids that earn their pay from their mistresses," he hinted, darkly.
"Celeste told the truth," returned Honora, quietly. "Surely you have had chance enough to have found out about me from her, if there had been anything to find out."
Doyle was not to be placated by a soft answer.
"There were other people about that office that night," he added, confidently. "Mr. Wilford was not the only tenant in that building. Much can be overheard in the stillness after business hours. Don't forget that. Why did you tell him to give her up—that she never had loved him, did not, and never could love him?"
Honora flushed slightly at the reference implied by Doyle to Vina. She seemed about to reply hotly, then checked herself. She looked about the room as though seeking help from some one, but not finding it.
"If you were really there," interrupted Kennedy, quietly, for the first time, "tell."
I saw Shattuck scowl blackly at Kennedy for lending the weight of his support even thus mildly to Doyle's bulldozing. Almost I hated Craig for doing it, myself. Honora's friendlessness appealed to me as it had often before. However, I reasoned, sentiment is a dangerous thing in a murder case.
"It is your duty to tell," urged Kennedy. "It is ours to find out. As Doyle says, we have found out much. Some one—two people—were in that office, besides your husband!"
There was silence.
"A man was there—came later—at the time when the murder must have been committed!"