"Answer my question first: Are you rich?" And he took another good look at the dress and the jewels.
"No," she said sullenly, "I am not. My husband left me fairly well off, but not with so much money as I expected."
"Then you would not object to making some more?"
Her eyes lighted up with the fire of greed.
"I should! I should! I am dying to leave this dull village and take up a position in London; but I cannot do it without money." She paused, then clapped her hands. "I see," she cried; "Sophy Marlow is going to compensate me for the death of my husband. It would be easy enough with all the millions she has!"
"I am sure it would," assented Blair coolly; "but I don't mean to supply you with money for nothing."
"You! What have you to do with the matter?"
"A good deal. Mr. Thorold and Miss Marlow will rely on my advice."
"Oh, Miss Marlow!" jeered Mrs. Warrender, sitting up. "That is her name, is it, Inspector Blair? Are you sure it isn't Marie Lestrange?"
He leaned forward and caught her wrist in a grip of steel.