He broke off, staring across the room at his wife’s portrait. Then:
“If only I had known,” he added.
Irvin exhibited greater composure than Margaret had ventured to anticipate. She was confirmed in her opinion that he should be told the truth.
“I would have told you long ago,” she said, “if I had thought that any good could result from my doing so. Frankly, I had hoped to cure Rita of the habit, and I believe I might have succeeded in time.”
“There has been no mention of drugs in connection with the case,” said Monte Irvin, speaking monotonously. “In the Press, I mean.”
“Hitherto there has not,” she replied. “But there is a hint of it in one of this evening’s papers, and I determined to give you the exact facts so far as they are known to me before some garbled account came to your ears.”
“Thank you,” he said, “thank you. I had felt for a long time that I was getting out of touch with Rita, that she had other confidants. Have you any idea who they were, Miss Halley?”
He raised his eyes, looking at her pathetically. Margaret hesitated, then:
“Well,” she replied, “I am afraid Nina knew.”
“Her maid?”