"What do you mean?"
"I mean that your sister's husband was on board."
"What!" She rose to her feet, looking like a tall white lily; "how is it I never saw him? I would know Leopold Verschoyle among a thousand."
Ronald, seeing the deep interest she took in this man, became brutal.
"The reason you did not see him," he said, coldly, "was because he was murdered, and his name was Lionel Ventin."
"My God!"
A white heap on the floor, and Ronald bending over it, trying to bring her back to consciousness. He sprinkled some water on her face, and with a low moan she sat up, and pushing her dark hair off her forehead, looked confusedly at him.
"I must have fainted," she said, as he assisted her to a seat, "but the shock was too much. God knows I have forgotten Leopold Verschoyle many long day since; but dead! oh, it is too horrible."
Ronald sat in silence, not daring to say anything.
"Who killed him?" she asked, suddenly looking up.