"I never lost the right of calling myself your husband's friend."
"No," she taunted, "you hadn't the pluck to do that. You pretended to love me, yet when I would have given you myself and a fortune you drew back."
"The price was too high. And you got someone else to put him out of the way."
Fairy Fan rose indignantly. "I never did!" she declared vehemently. "I was in Chicago at the time. When Anchor's conduct became unbearable I went with my uncle to that city. It was there that we heard of his death."
"Shot and stabbed, wasn't he?"
"Yes. But not by me--not by my uncle, although he was angry at the way in which I had been treated. I left Anchor and intended to get a divorce--but circumstances made me his widow."
"Did it make you a rich woman also?" asked Eustace, remembering the last interview he had with her.
"No," she said quietly. "You never gave me time to tell you about the money. Anchor speculated, and lost his fortune. However, he knew, through some Indian, of a treasure--a Spanish treasure which was buried in a certain place. I wanted him to tell me the secret, but he would not. When he died he took the secret along with him. I am as poor now as I was then, and I shouldn't be acting at the Piccadilly Theatre if I wasn't."
"Why was the death of your husband necessary to your learning the secret?" demanded Jarman, quickly.
Fairy Fan arranged herself on the sofa and took out a case, which she opened, "It wasn't," she said, blandly, selecting a cigarette. "But I feared I wouldn't get a divorce, and so I wished him out of the way. You were too scrupulous, although all you had to do was to pick a quarrel with him. You were a better shot than he was."