"I see that you are telling the truth. She died in 1893."
"How did she die?"
"I can't answer you," burst out Robert, in a frenzy. "You will drive me mad. Night and day I have her dead face before me. Look at me," he continued, holding out his trembling hands. "I am a wreck of what I was once. All through the death of Emma Calvert, of Lady Fellenger."
The two listeners arose to their feet. What dark mystery was connected with the death of this woman that could so move the man? In searching for one murder had they stumbled upon another?
"Did she meet her death; by foul play?" asked Garth, sternly.
"No! No! I swear it was not that; but she did not get on well with my master. He wearied of her, he neglected her; she was very proud and impulsive; and one night after a great scene--she--she----"
"Well, man--well?"
"She--she destroyed herself."
"Great heavens!" cried Garth, confirmed in his worst fears. "Suicide?"
"She drowned herself in the Seine," said Robert, in a low voice.