“No. Why speak of that terrible accident—”
“It was no accident.” The physician’s voice, though low pitched, vibrated with feeling.
The Attorney General half rose from his chair; then sank back again.
“Davis,” he said, almost fiercely, “you know that by some fearful mischance Hélène locked herself in the air-tight safe and was suffocated.”
The detective glanced with quickened interest at the two men.
“On closer examination upstairs,” said the doctor, slowly, “I found a small wound under the left breast. The wound was concealed by the lace bertha of her evening dress. The weapon penetrated to the heart, and she bled internally. Mrs. Trevor was dead before she was put in that safe.”
The detective broke the appalling silence with an exclamation:
“Murdered!”
Without one word Beatrice Trevor fell fainting at her father’s feet.