“She!” exclaimed Murray. “Who?”
“The nurse,” replied the woman scornfully. “But she can’t have the insurance—not a cent of it. And that’s what she has been after.”
“Let me understand this,” said Murray thoughtfully. “You and your husband have not been living together?”
“Not for five years.”
“And this other woman?”
“She was an old flame, and she went to him when he became ill.”
“Did he send for you?”
“No. He knew better than to do that. But the insurance is in my name, and I’m going to have it—all of it. That’s my right, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” replied Murray slowly; “I’m sorry to say that is your absolute right.” The supreme selfishness and heartlessness of the woman were revolting to Murray. “The policy names you as beneficiary, and when it is presented, with proof of death, the money will have to be paid to you.”
“How am I to get the policy?” asked the woman. “He had it put away somewhere.”