"How did he die?" Mrs. Ducharme whispered.
"You know as well as I," Alves cried, terrified now by the mysterious air the woman assumed.
"Yes!" Mrs. Ducharme whispered again. "I know as well as you. I know, and I can tell. I know how the wife gave him powders,—sleeping powders the doctor ordered,—the doctor who was hanging around, and ran off with her just after the funeral."
The woman's scheme of extracting blackmail flashed instantly into Alves's mind.
"You foul creature," she gasped, "you know it is an abominable lie—"
"Think so? Well, Ducharme didn't think so when I told him, and there are others that 'ud believe it, if I should testify to it!"
Alves walked to and fro, overwhelmed by the thoughts of the evil which was around her. At last she faced Mrs. Ducharme, who was watching her closely.
"I see what it means. You want money—blackmail, and you think you've got a good chance. But I will not give you a cent. I will tell Dr. Sommers first, and let him deal with you."
"The doctor! What does he say about his dying quiet and nice as he did? I guess the doctor'll see the point."
Alves started. What did Sommers think? What were his half-completed inquiries? What did his conduct the night of Preston's death mean? This wretched affair was like a curse left to injure her by the miserable creature she had once been tied to. But Sommers would believe her! She had given Preston but one powder, and he had said two were safe. She must tell him exactly what she had done.