Britz's gaze narrowed on her as if questioning her statement. But the very haggardness of her features accentuated her incapacity for deceit. Gradually the detective's eyes cleared with belief and his calloused nature yielded to an impulse of pity.
"I did not expect to find you here, Mrs. Collins," he said more gently. "I can understand your suffering—I do not wish to add a hair's weight to it. But the conclusion is inevitable that your visit at such a late hour has something to do with Mr. Whitmore's death, so I must ask you to explain your presence."
She leaned back in her chair, a look of meek resignation in her face.
"I came to obtain a letter addressed to Mr. Whitmore," she said frankly.
"A letter which you wrote?"
"No."
"By whom was it written?"
"My brother—Mr. Ward."
Britz tried to guess the hidden significance of the note which had impelled this woman to a midnight visit to Beard's house. She must have known, just as Britz had ascertained earlier in the day, that Beard was a bachelor, occupying the private dwelling with a lone servant. Surely she would not have been guilty of so unconventional an act except through desperate necessity.
"That letter—will it throw any light on Mr. Whitmore's death?" asked Britz eagerly.