"Did he leave any money behind him?"
"Not a shilling. Drank it all away. He died in a fit of delirium tremens."
Annette rose from her chair in horror.
"You saw him dead?" pursued Gilbert, maliciously.
"I was with him at the time. You are mighty particular with your questions."
He was not aware that Annette had slowly approached him, and was only made conscious of it by the touch of her hand on his arm.
"Well?" he said.
She looked steadily at him; every vestige of colour had fled from her face, her eyes dilated, her lips were apart; thus they gazed at each other in silence, and Gilbert, leaning back in his chair, watched them closely. There was an accusing quality in Annette's steady gaze which fascinated Chaytor, and the colour died out of his face as it had died out of hers. His eyes began to shift, his limbs to twitch.
"How is this going to end?" thought Gilbert Bidaud, his interest in the scene growing. "My niece has the upper hand here. Faith, she has the Bidaud blood in her."
His suddenly-aroused pride in her was a personal tribute to himself. For fully five minutes there was dead silence in the room; then Annette removed her hand from Chaytor's arm, and quitted the apartment.