Broughton lifted the limp form of the fainting woman to a couch while Edith Wolcott brought cold water and sprinkled her face. In a few minutes she showed signs of returning consciousness, and leaving Edith to chafe her hands, Broughton drew Lyon out into the hall.
"Is that straight about Vanderburg being dead? Can you prove it?" he asked anxiously.
"Of course. He was killed in a railway accident in Ohio three years ago. I was with him, and I am sure I still have among my old papers the pocket memorandum book which I took from his pocket. It gave me his name, and a few minutes before he died he recovered consciousness enough to confirm it."
"Was this before or after my marriage, do you happen to remember?"
"About six weeks after. As a newspaper man, I knew the circumstances of the case, and therefore was interested in meeting Vanderburg. Of course I knew nothing further."
Broughton walked back and forth with nervous steps.
"We will be married again, at once, and very privately," he said, in an unsteady voice. "That will satisfy her mind. What an amazing tangle it has been. And what luck--what amazing luck--that I should have come across you, the one man who could give that essential information about Vanderburg's death. Without that, where would we be, even with Fullerton dead?--We would not dare to take chances."
He wrung Lyon's hand with a grip that hurt.
Edith Wolcott came to the door. "Will you go in now?" she said. "She is conscious and anxious to see you."
Broughton went in, and Edith Wolcott, with a warning finger on her lip, drew Lyon across the hall into the little sitting room where they had talked earlier in the evening.