“How long was it before he came in again?”
“Ah! I not know,” she exclaimed, impatiently, “’alf an hour, vone hour; me get tired an’ I go to bed. Ven Argot ’e come in ’e terribly angry; ’e storm; ’e rage; ’e say, zat vas your lover; I say, no; zat vas nobody I knows. But hélas, I am unfortunate, for ’e find Andrè’s card vat ’e left, for Andrè quite ze gentleman; zen, I sink, ’e have a fit; ’e swear ’e kill Andrè. But ’e not know vere Andrè is, because zere is no address on ze cards, but I know vere ’e is, for Andrè ’e told me. So ze next mornin’ I writes to my cousin an’ tell ’im my ’usban’ ’e come for to kill ’im. But Argot ’e go out every day to try an’ fin’ ’im. And ’e not fin’ im,” she wound up, triumphantly, “because a friend of mine she tell me zat Andrè ’ave left New York an’ ’ave gone back to Chicago.”
“Did your cousin look much like the corpse?”
“Ah, but not at all. My cousin ’e little man vid no beard, for ’e is a vaitor.”
“And you are sure your husband did not know him by sight.”
“But certain,” she asserted, vehemently.
“And you have no idea how your husband got hold of his hat?”
“No, Meestair, for I t’ought zat Andrè ’e took ’is ’at. An’ Argot ’e say nossing about it till vone day——”
“What day?” I interrupted, again.
“Oh! vat zat matter? Thursday or Friday of last veek, I sinks. Vell, I come into the kitchen and zere is my ’usban’ vis zat ’at. An’ ’e glares at me. I no understand; I say, Vat you got? Vy don’t you sit down, an’ take off your at? ’e say, it is not my ’at; it ’as A. B. inside it, an’ I vill vear it till I can bring you ze ’ead of zis A. B.; zis charming cousin whom you love so much. Yes! vait only, an’ you shall have it, an’ zen you shall vatch it rot!! And you dare say nossing—nossing,—for you be afraid ve gets ’anged for murder. But I say it no murder to kill ze lover of my vife. I say, Argot, you crazy; vere you get zat ’at? ’e say, Never min’.”