McVeigh seemed scarcely to hear his words. Her voice was yet sounding in his ears; her remorseful repetition, “You will never forgive me when you do know!”––was this what she meant?
He laid down the picture and picked up the papers. Masterson seated himself at the other side of the room with his back to him, and waited.
There was the rustle of paper as McVeigh laid one page after another on the table. After a little the rustle ceased. Masterson looked around. The Colonel had finished with the report and was again studying the picture.
“Well?” said Masterson.
“I cannot think this evidence at all conclusive.” There 376 was a pause and then he added, “but the situation is such that every unusual thing relating to this matter must, of course, be investigated. I should like to see Margeret and Captain Monroe here; later I may question Madame Caron.”
His voice was very quiet and steady, but he scarcely lifted his eyes from the picture; something about it puzzled him; the longer he looked at it the less striking was the likeness––the character of Judithe’s face, now, was so different.
He was still holding it at arm’s length on the table when Margeret noiselessly entered the room. She came back of him and halted beside the table; her eyes were also on the picture, and a smothered exclamation made him aware of her presence. He closed the frame and picked up the report Masterson had given him.
“Margeret,” he said, looking at her, curiously, “have you seen Madame Caron today?”
“Yes, Colonel McVeigh;” she showed no surprise at the question, only looked straight ahead of her, with those solemn, dark eyes. He remembered the story of her madness years ago, and supposed that was accountable for the strange, colorless, passive manner.
“Did she speak to you?”