"My husband also," said Mrs. Fane calmly. "Will you be so kind as to tell me what you mean by these questions?"
"I want to prove the guilt of Calvert."
"I cannot help you to do so," she said impatiently.
"Yes, you can," persisted Bocaros. "Calvert was the young man who left this house while you were singing. You assisted him to escape. You met him here. He used the dagger to kill Flora Brand!"
"What dagger?"
"The stage weapon which the cook found in the dustbin, and which you said belonged to you."
Mrs. Fane leaned her chin on the tips of her fingers, thinking. "You are a gentleman," said she gravely.
"I am, madame. I am a Greek noble--the Baron Bocaros."
"The curled lip of Mrs. Fane showed that she thought very little of a foreign title, but she went on quietly, watching the man all the time like a cat. And, indeed, she did not look unlike a magnificent white cat, sleek and feline and treacherous. Bocaros, hard as he was, winced at the regard of her narrow eyes. Well, then, Baron Bocaros," said Mrs. Fane in her low sweet voice, "I will be plain with you. I said that the dagger was mine, to shield Mr. Calvert----"
"I know. You are in love with him," burst out the professor.