“Did you expect Lady Rawson to visit you to-day?” he asked.
“No. How could I? It is two weeks—more—since I have even seen her. I had to go to Birmingham——”
“On my affairs—there is no secret about that,” interposed Cacciola, but neither heeded him.
“I did not send word to her of my journey—you know that, if you have—her—letters, as you say,” Boris continued. “I do not know why she came to-day—to meet her death!”
“She came to give or show you some important and secret papers which she stole from her husband’s safe this morning,” said Snell bluntly.
“So? I know nothing of that.”
“But someone knew. Those papers were in her hand-bag, which was snatched from her by the person who followed and stabbed her, and has since been found empty. Now, do you know of anyone whatsoever, man or woman, who would be likely to know or guess that she had those papers in her possession?”
“Of our people? None! Was she not one of us—the most trusted, the most beloved? Not one of us would have harmed a hair of her head! Wait—let me think. They were her husband’s papers——”
For some seconds he stood knitting his dark brows, then, very slowly: