"Mrs. Doane, do you happen to be acquainted with a drug which produces temporary loss of memory?"
She stared at him, but did not lose her self-possession.
"No," she said finally. "Why?"
"You know, of course, that this man is _not_ your husband?"
This time the question had its effect. The woman arose suddenly, stared at the two men, and her face went white.
"Not?--not?--what do you mean?"
"I mean," and the voice reassumed its tone of irritation, "I mean that I shall send for the police and give you in their charge unless you tell me the truth about this affair. Is that perfectly clear to you?"
The woman's lips were pressed tightly together. She saw that she had fallen into some sort of a trap; her gloved hands were clenched fiercely; the pallor faded and a flush of anger came.
"Further, for fear you don't quite follow me even now," explained The Thinking Machine, "I will say that I know all about this copper deal of which this so-called John Doane was the victim. _I know his condition now_. If you tell the truth you may escape prison--if you don't, there is a long term, not only for you, but for your fellow-conspirators. Now will you talk?"
"No," said the woman. She arose as if to go out.