“I rather thought you'd want to,” murmured the colonel. “Bring him in!” he called.
The door opened, and, handcuffed to a stalwart officer, in slunk Jean of the many names.
Mazi sprang to her feet, her face livid. She would have leaped at the prisoner, but the colonel held her back. But he could not hold back the flood of voluble French that poured from her lips.
“Liar! Dog!” she hissed at him. “And so you have deceived me as you deceived others! You lied—and I thought he lied!” and she motioned to the colonel. “Oh, what a silly fool I've been! But now my eyes are open! I see! I see!”
With a quick gesture, before the colonel could stop her, she tore in half the picture that had swept away all her doubts.
“Mustn't do that!” chided the colonel, as he picked up the pieces which she was about to grind under her feet. “I'll need that at the trial.”
“You—you beast!” whispered the girl, but the whisper seemed louder than a shout would have been. “You beast! No longer will I lie for you. Why you wanted me to, I do not know. Yes, I do! It was so that you might be with some one else when you should have been with me. Listen, all of you!” she cried, as she flung her arms wide. “No longer will I shield him. He told me to say that he was with me when that golf man—Monsieur Carwell died—before he died—but he was not. No more will I lie for you, Jean of the many names! You were not with me! I did not even see you that day. Bah! You were kissing some other fool maybe! Oh, my God! I—I—”
And the colonel gently laid the trembling, shrieking girl down on a bench, while the eyes of the shrinking figure of Jean the chauffeur followed every movement.
He raised his free hand, and seemed to be struggling to loosen his collar that appeared to choke him. For a moment the attention of Colonel Ashley was turned toward Mazi, who was sobbing frantically. Then, when he saw that she was becoming quieter, he turned to the prisoner.
“You heard all that went on, I know,” said the detective. “That's why I put you in the next room.”