“Your evil deeds alone have betrayed you,” I responded, “and if you decline to tell me anything of your own free will, then perhaps you will make a statement to the police when put upon your trial for attempted murder.”
“My trial!” she gasped, turning pale again. “You think to frighten me into telling you something, eh?” she laughed. “Ah! you do not know me.”
“I know you sufficiently well to be aware that you are a clever and ingenious woman,” I replied. “And in this affair I entertain a belief that our interests may, after all, be mutual.”
“How?”
“Tattersett is your enemy, as he is ours.” It was a wild shot, but I recollected his words that I had overheard in the park at Whitton. “There has been a conspiracy against myself and this lady here, who is my wife.”
“Your wife!” she gasped.
“I have spoken the truth,” I said. “I am here to learn the details from you. If, on the other hand, you prefer to preserve the secret of your accomplices, I shall demand your arrest without delay.”
She was silent. Then, after further declarations of ignorance, she was driven to desperation by my threats of arrest, and at last said in a hard, husky voice—
“I must first tell you who and what I am. My father was an English merchant, named Turton, who lived in Palermo, and my mother was Italian. Fifteen years ago I was a popular dancer, known throughout Italy as ‘La Gioia.’ While engaged at La Scala Theatre, in Milan, I met an Englishman named Ashwicke—”
“Ashwicke?” I exclaimed.