"Was my brother the man?"
Monteith bowed.
"And you gave evidence at the inquest?"
He bowed again.
Mrs. Taunton braced herself up with a mighty effort, her charming face looking pale, and drawn with horror. She walked away a few steps, then suddenly wheeled round on the two men, who were watching her silently:--
"Who killed him?"
"That is what we intend to find out," said Monteith, slowly, "and you must assist us."
Mrs. Taunton sat down, and, clasping her hands over her knee, sat staring at the Australian with a rigid face. The shadows were falling fast in the street outside, and through the gathering gloom of the room the two men could see the white, set face of this woman looking like that of a lost spirit.
"Do you know what grief is?" she asked, in a dull, hard voice; "do you know what it is to go about with a smile on your lips, and a broken heart? No, of course you don't--you are men; and cannot feel pain as a woman can. I have lost two children, and it nearly broke my heart--my husband is wrapped up in his work, and does not care for me except as a useful ornament to his table--the only two children I had died when I most wanted their love and affection, and I thought my heart would break--perhaps it did--but--I lived--yes--I went about with a smiling face, and talked gaily with my friends--they said I was heartless. God! If they only knew the nights of agony that succeeded to days of apparent joy--but I lived--yes, and I still go about amusing myself--a maelstrom above, but a hell below. This is another blow. I loved my brother dearly, though I had not seen him for years, and now he is dead--murdered--by whom?--you do not know--I do!"
"What do you mean?" asked Monteith, starting to his feet.