"You know well enough," said Lucian sternly. "It is near the place where your husband was murdered."
Mrs. Vrain turned white. "Do you dare to say——" she began, when Denzil cut her short with a hint at her former discomposure.
"The stiletto, Mrs. Vrain! Don't forget the stiletto!"
"Oh, God!" cried Lydia, trembling violently. "What do you know of the stiletto?"
CHAPTER XVII
A DENIAL
"What do you know of the stiletto?" repeated Mrs. Vrain anxiously.
She had risen to her feet, and, with an effort to be calm, was holding on to the near chair. Her bright colour had faded to a dull white hue, and her eyes had a look of horror in their depths which transformed her from her childish beauty into a much older and more haggard woman than she really was. It seemed as though Lucian, by some necromantic spell, had robbed her of youth, vitality, and careless happiness. To him this extraordinary agitation was a proof of her guilt; and hardening his heart so as not to spare her one iota of her penalty—a mercy she did not deserve—he addressed her sternly: