The second quarter of an hour has been gathered into the past, and the contents of the second paper have been consigned to the silver cuspidor, the third quarter is well-nigh spent, but the beautiful woman who watches seems to pay no heed to time.
One convulsive gasp, another, and the man whom she calls husband falls back motionless on his pillow.
“He is dead!” she whispers, half aloud.
“Yes, he is dead,” answers a deep voice close by her elbow, “and you, my dear madam, are his—— Well, the word I would use is an ugly one, and I will substitute in its place—you are responsible for it.”
“It is false!” Queenie tries to gasp as she reels backward in horror, too awful for words, and glares with dilated eyes at the intruder who has suddenly loomed up before her. But the words die away in her throat in a spasmodic, deathlike gurgle.
Before her she sees standing the man with the bright, piercing eyes, whom she had believed to be the doctor’s assistant, and whom she fancied had left the house with him.
His coat collar was still turned up, and his hat pulled down over his face, revealing only those black, malicious eyes.
“You have not been alone, as you fancied yourself to be, madam,” he went on, in that voice which seemed strangely familiar to her. “I remained behind, to see that you carried out the doctor’s instructions, upon which the life of the man now lying dead before you hung. I seated myself in that armchair in the bay window, which the lace draperies conceal, but from my position I could see all that took place. In fact, being scarcely ten feet from you, I could not help overhearing every word that fell from your lips.”
“No, no, no!” shrieked Queenie, falling on her knees at his feet.
“Hush!” he commanded, quickly, placing his hand over her mouth, “don’t you know that you will arouse every servant in the house, and that they will be flocking to the scene? I have much to say to you ere the alarm that your husband is dead is given out. There, don’t be alarmed; I want to be your friend if you will allow me to be so. It is not my intention, at least not my present intention, to betray your crime to the world. You did a very rash thing, to be sure, but, then, I intend to be your friend for the reason that it is for my interest to be so.”