"Well, sir, and what has this to do with me?"
"A great deal, as you will find. I want to learn who killed this woman, Mrs. Fane."
"And you come to me. I fear I cannot assist you."
"Oh yes, I think you can."
"Sir, you are insolent!" Mrs. Fane, drawing herself up to her full height, was about to press the button of the bell. Bocaros stopped her.
"Wait a little," he said; "you can help me by explaining how you came to be in this room on the night of the murder."
Mrs. Fane's hand fell, and she stared at the man. "I was not."
"You were! Your voice was heard--you sang a favourite song."
"Indeed!" Mrs. Fane thought for a moment, but without losing her colour or self-possession in the face of this accusation. Then she returned to her seat, resolved to give this strange man a hearing. "I was at the seaside when the crime was committed."
"So I believe--your husband also?"