“How horrible to sacrifice a life for a paltry sum!” Hugh exclaimed, unable even then to fully realise the truth of the extraordinary story of conspiracy and crime.
“The manner in which they got rid of you was quite as ingenious as their dealings with that old scoundrel Graham, and all their other plans. You remember, you were in Paris when arrested?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it was your wife who informed the police. She represented that you were Douglas Trethowen, who had escaped from ‘La Nouvelle.’ You were identified by the photograph in the dossier at Monsieur Goron’s bureau, hence your arrest. The police had already discovered Valérie’s liaison with the murdered man Nicholson, and when you were interrogated you admitted that you were her husband. This strengthened their suspicions that you were guilty of complicity in the murder, even if you did not actually kill your wife’s lover. Again, they had previously obtained evidence that Douglas Trethowen was seen to leave the house on the night of the tragedy accompanied by Valérie, therefore it was not surprising that the heavy sentence was passed upon you, especially as Pierre Rouillier gave damning information against you in secret.”
“This is all so strange, mademoiselle, that I can scarcely believe it,” Trethowen remarked. “Yet my brother’s connection with this woman—this murderess—accounts for the picture and letters of hers which I found among his papers. I remember now that one of the letters contained the words ‘Boulevard’ and ‘Montabello.’ Yes,” he cried, suddenly realising the truth; “what you have told me tallies with the facts. My brother has been murdered, and I have been victimised by this vile, debased creature, in a manner that has almost cost me my life. I believe you have spoken the truth. My lifelong thanks are due to you for your self-denial in watching the complicated game of these wretches, and rest assured I shall not overlook your claim upon me as my poor brother’s widow.” Turning to Valérie, who still stood ashen pale and trembling, he paused, looking straight into her unflinching eyes with a terrible expression of loathing and hatred.
“You!” he cried. “As for you—you know what punishment a murderess deserves! I little dreamed that such a fair form could hide so black a heart; yet it seems that while pretending to reciprocate my love you were planning my destruction—”
“No,” she cried wildly. “I—I loved you—once,” and she stretched out her hand as if to grasp his arm. He stepped back quickly, saying—
“Keep away! Your touch is polluting!”
Her submissive and resigned attitude instantly changed as he uttered this reproach. Her look was menacing and full of hate. She turned furiously upon Gabrielle, and poured forth a torrent of abuse.
But she exposed herself to terrible reprisals.