‘Yes.’
‘Do you know—forgive me if I pain you—the nature of her relations with him?’
‘I think I do,’ returned Forster. ‘Before my darling’s guardian died, he confided to me that, when quite a child, she had been betrayed into a mock marriage with a foreigner, who almost immediately abandoned her. I knew this when I married her. I have no doubt that this Gavrolles is the same man; that he again thrust himself in her way; that, in order to avoid him, and dreading some misunderstanding on my part, she yielded to a wild impulse and—and——’
But here Forster broke down sobbing, and hid his face in his hands. Deeply moved, Sutherland touched him gently on the shoulder, as he said:—
‘I think it has all been as you say. With regard to Mrs. Forster’s first acquaintance with this man, I can myself tell you something which will, I think, convince you of her innocence in the matter.’ Sutherland thereupon briefly recounted his first meeting with Madeline in the hotel at Fecamp, his suspicions of her companions, his offers of assistance; and explained also briefly the part he had taken afterwards, when they met again in Paris—saying nothing, however, of his own temporary misconception of Madeline’s true character, but describing the manner in which, on her abandonment by her pseudo-husband, he had restored her into the hands of her guardian.
‘That is all I know,’ he said in conclusion, ‘and I think it is enough to justify you in your noble faith in Mrs. Forster’s honour. From first to last, when a mere child, she was this man’s victim, and so sure as there is a God above us, her death lies at his door.’
Trembling with agitation, Forster rose to his feet.
‘Where is he? Let me see him! Yes, you are right—he has killed her. Tell me where he is, that I may find him out, and——’
At this moment a servant entered, bearing a card. A gentleman, he said, was waiting below desirous of seeing Mr. Forster on most important business. Almost mechanically Forster took the card and glanced at it. As he read the inscription upon it, he uttered a sharp cry and turned deathly pale.
Graven on the card, in fantastic letters, with many characteristic flourishes, was the name—