She was intensely white, but she was resolute.
"Who told you he was murdered?"
"No one. I discovered the evidence myself."
He felt her weaken and grow limp beside him.
"The—the evidence?" she repeated faintly. "What kind—of evidence?"
"Poison."
He was watching her keenly.
She swayed, as if to faint once more, but mastered herself by exerting the utmost of her will.
"Poison?" she repeated, as before. "But how?"
"In a box of cigars—a birthday present given to your uncle."