“But mine was destroyed by fire—as was also the chalice at St. Peter’s,” I observed.
“No; in order to mystify those who follow Christianity the Diabolists have established a system by which the ashes of various objects burned in the brazier are afterwards supplied to the votaries of Satan, and when any sacred objects are stolen the ashes are substituted. Being carried in a bag of chamois-leather, they are warmed by the heat of the body, and hence, increased mystery is added by the ashes, when discovered, being warm.”
“Then you stole my crucifix in order that it should be burnt here!” I exclaimed, amazed.
“Yes. The chalice, too, was melted in that brazier, as well as objects from the rooms of your poor friend Morgan.”
“Morgan!” I cried, interrupting. “He was murdered! Tell us the truth.”
“Yes,” answered the unhappy woman, hoarsely. “He was murdered.”
“Who was the assassin?” I inquired quickly.
“I do not know,” she answered, looking boldly at me. “I myself have tried to discover, but cannot.”
“But how do you reconcile your assertion that he died at Monte Carlo with the fact that he was assassinated in London?” I demanded.
“I felt assured that he committed suicide there, for I saw him carried out of the rooms dying. But, from further information which I have since obtained from the Administration there, I have found that he lay ill for some weeks in a hospital at Nice, and afterwards recovered sufficiently to be able to return to London. The Administration are always reticent upon the subject of suicides, and it was their refusal to give me any information when I applied on the day following the tragic affair that led me to believe that your friend had died and been buried in a nameless grave in the suicides’ cemetery at La Turbie.”