“But, my heavens, man, Mendes died at once. I hid his body in——”
“In the chest,” interrupted the detective, grinning. “Yes, I know all about that. But, you see, Mendes did not die. He came to while you were at dinner. Our fellows followed him to his lodgings in Soho—and today my chum got hold of a letter that gave her the address, and she and I were with him when he died an hour ago—yes, and Mrs. Fair is there now.”
While he was speaking Fair sank back into his chair, as if unconscious of what was passing, but when Ferret paused he sprang up, crying, “Marshall, did you ever hear of anything so unspeakably glorious as Janet’s devotion?”
“Yes—once,” answered Marshall, with streaming eyes. “Your own, Fair.”
“But, Ferret,” went on Fair, when he had recovered his voice, “who is the chum who so materially assisted you? And where is Mrs. Fair now?”
“Mrs. Fair is by Mendes’s bedside. My chum is——”
The door opened and Kate Mettleby came hurrying in, breathless and worn. Ferret finished by saying: “My chum, gentlemen.”
“Oh, Mr. Fair,” began Kate, after Fair had presented Marshall to her with a word of explanation, “have you heard? Janet is with him—with Señor Mendes—it was awful—it was unbearably touching.”
“He is the father of her children, Kate,” said Fair gently, when Marshall and Ferret quietly stole out, leaving them together.
“Yes, I know—and—Maxwell—there is something—oh, how can I tell you? She came in and knelt by his bed with his head in her arms when the priest told her that he was dead. She knelt there half an hour, and when it was time for us to start to come here to meet you—Maxwell, can you bear it?—when I went and touched her shoulder and told her to come away—she—was dead.”