“How do you believe she died?” he inquired, in tones so low that I could barely hear them.
“By the hand of a poisoner,” I answered.
He made a movement as if he were about to start up in the chair, and sank back again, seized, apparently, with a sudden faintness.
“Not my husband!” I hastened to add. “You know that I am satisfied of his innocence.”
I saw him shudder. I saw his hands fasten their hold convulsively on the arms of his chair.
“Who poisoned her?” he asked, still lying helplessly back in the chair.
At the critical moment my courage failed me. I was afraid to tell him in what direction my suspicions pointed.
“Can’t you guess?” I said.
There was a pause. I supposed him to be secretly following his own train of thought. It was not for long. On a sudden he started up in his chair. The prostration which had possessed him appeared to vanish in an instant. His eyes recovered their wild light; his hands were steady again; his color was brighter than ever. Had he been pondering over the secret of my interest in Mrs. Beauly? and had he guessed? He had!
“Answer on your word of honor!” he cried. “Don’t attempt to deceive me! Is it a woman?”