"But I knew nothing of the refuge story," she railed on. "I never suspected the awful truth when you evaded every question I asked about your girlhood. I knew your past had been common; I could not dream it had also been criminal."
"Julie!" Atwood entreated.
"The time has come for plain dealing," she answered him. "You will live to thank me for opening your eyes."
Jean took a step nearer her accuser.
"Let her go on," she challenged contemptuously. "She only distorts what I have told you already."
Julie's dark face grew thunderous.
"Do I!" she retorted. "Let us see. What have you told Craig of this man Bartlett? What have you told him of the flat at the Lorna Doone? Where are your glib answers now? Can you suppose that, knowing your history, I would suspect nothing when Satterlee put you out of countenance at the Copley Studios? A double, indeed! From that moment you avoided the place. From that moment every shift of yours strengthened my belief that I had stumbled on one more murky chapter of your life. Satterlee's memory improved; he recalled your twin's name. Thereafter my investigations were child's play. Can you, dare you, deny that you were known at the Lorna Doone as Bartlett's wife?"
Jean's face grew pale; Craig's, her agonized glance perceived, was whiter still.
"It was a mistake," she answered. "They thought—"
"Ah!" Julie's cry was long-drawn, triumphant. "Do you hear, Craig? She admits that she was known as Mrs. Bartlett. My poor brother! By her own confession you have married either a discarded mistress or a bigamist!"