"Her eyes were dull."
"She had been crying the night before—eh?"
There was no answer.
"Ah—then there had been a quarrel between Mrs. Wilford and her husband the day before?"
Doyle's assurance, like a clairvoyant having struck a profitable lead, overwhelmed Celeste. She said nothing, but it was evident that Doyle had hit upon something at least approximating the truth.
"Did she threaten again to leave him?" persisted Doyle, now taking further advantage.
"Oh—no—no—no! Madame would not quarrel. She would not leave monsieur—I know it."
I glanced again at Kennedy. I saw that he placed no great reliance on what Celeste said, unless it were substantiated in some outside manner.
It seemed to be about all we could get out of her, at least at this time. Moreover, following Doyle's wishes, we decided to let him handle both the Rascon affair and such watching and questioning of Celeste as may seem necessary. Kennedy was not unwilling. To tell the truth, the Rascon affair was indeed unsavory and a mess we could afford to let alone.
"That's all, my girl, for the present," concluded Doyle. "Oh—by the way—not one syllable of this to Mrs. Wilford. And if you breathe a word I shall know it. It will go hard with you, you understand?"