“I quite agree, Dick. But do you think it possible that a mother could deliberately attempt to kill her daughter by such dastardly means? I don’t.”
“Such a thing is not unknown in the annals of crime,” he answered, knocking the ash slowly from his cigar. “You see, it is practically plain that Yolande is in possession of some secret, and has grown nervous and melancholy. Of the nature of that secret we have no idea. If it were disclosed it might seriously affect the Countess; hence it would be to the latter’s advantage if her daughter’s lips were sealed.”
“But, my dear fellow, I know the Countess well. She’s one of the most charming of women, and utterly devoted to Yolande. Your suggestion seems incredible.”
“How incredible it appears to you is of no import, my dear Ingram,” he answered calmly. “You asked me to investigate the strange affair for you, and I’ve done so to the best of my ability. I found that the young lady had been poisoned, in a most secret and ingenious manner, by someone well acquainted with the use of the unknown drug. That the envelope was carefully prepared is quite plain, but by whom it is impossible to say—”
“Not by her mother,” I declared, interrupting him. “I can’t believe that.”
“It is for you to discover that. You can ask her a little later about the letter, without giving her any clue to the fact that I have secured it. She must remain under the impression that the letter was duly posted by one of the servants.”
“But she is leaving Paris,” I said.
“You can see her this evening and make the necessary inquiries, surely?”
“No,” I responded. “I shall not see her again.”
“Then it is true, as I’ve already suggested, that you’ve quarrelled?”