"Feel better?" he asked.
I nodded.
"I don't wonder it knocked you out," he went on. "I'm feeling shaky myself. I had them call Vantine's physician—but he can't do anything."
"He's dead, then?" I murmured, my eyes on that dark and crumpled object which had been Philip Vantine.
"Yes—just like the other."
Then I remembered, and I caught his arm and drew him down to me.
"Godfrey," I whispered, "whose voice was it—or did I dream it —something about a woman?"
"You didn't dream it—it was Rogers—he's almost hysterical. We'll get the story, as soon as he quiets down."
Someone called him from the door, and he turned away, leaving me staring blankly at nothing. So there had been a woman in Vantine's life! Perhaps that was why he had never married. What ugly skeleton was to be dragged from its closet?
But if a woman killed Vantine, the same woman also killed d'Aurelle.
Where was her hiding-place? From what ambush did she strike?