"Perhaps," I said, in a low voice, "he may have been one of the friends of your husband."
I saw her hand tremble under the blow, but it had to be struck. And she was brave.
"The same thought occurred to me, Mr. Lester," she answered; "but I know very few of my husband's friends; certainly not this one. And yet…. Perhaps my maid can help us."
Photograph in hand, she stepped through the doorway into the outer room. The maid was sitting on the chair where we had left her; her hands clenched tightly together in her lap, as though it was only by some violent effort she could maintain her self-control.
"Julie," said the veiled lady, in rapid French, "I have here the photograph of a man who was killed in this room most mysteriously a few days ago. These gentlemen wish to identify him. The face seems to me somehow familiar, but I cannot place it. Look at it."
Julie put forth a shaking hand, took the photograph, and glanced at it; then, with a long sigh, slid limply to the floor, before either Godfrey or I could catch her.
As she fell, her veil, catching on the chair-back, was torn away; and, looking down at her, a great emotion burst within me, for I recognised the mysterious woman whose photograph d'Aurelle had carried in his watch-case.
CHAPTER XV
THE SECRET OF THE UNKNOWN FRENCHMAN
For a moment, I stood spell-bound, staring down at that jaded and passion-stained countenance; then Godfrey sprang forward and lifted the unconscious woman to the couch.