"Her murder," said Dowker in a deep voice.
She sprang forward with a sudden cry.
"Her murder--her--what do you mean?"
"I mean that the victim of the Jermyn Street murder, whom we thought to be you, turns out to be Lady Balscombe."
"My wife!" said Sir Rupert with a groan, burying his face in his hands.
"God!--it's too horrible," cried Lena, and sank down into a chair. "Amelia dead--murdered--by whom?"
"That's what we want to find out," said Norwood coldly.
"What enemies had she?" muttered Miss Sarschine half to herself--"none that would desire her death--I cannot understand. I cannot,"--then suddenly struck by a thought she asked, "Why did you think the dead woman was me?"
"Because she was dressed in your clothes."
"Yes! yes!" she said feverishly. "I can understand now--I can understand."