“Nobody can discover. I saw him once, but he has disappeared. They say he’s a wandering lunatic. He left Denbury suddenly after showing signs of madness, and although that terror of a woman, his wife, strove to trace him, she was unsuccessful. His insanity, coupled with the fact that financial ruin overtook him suddenly, apparently preyed upon her mind. She fell ill, and according to a letter I received from Gedge a few days ago, she died suddenly of an aneurism, and was buried last Thursday at Budleigh-Salterton. The announcement of her death was in yesterday’s papers.”
I listened to those words open-mouthed. My wife was dead! Then I was free!
With my strained ear close to the thin wood of the door I stood breathless, fearing that they might distinguish the rapid beating of my heart.
“Your ingenuity has always been extraordinary, madame,” he said reflectively, “but in this last affair you have not shown your usual tact.”
“In what manner?”
“His Highness places confidence in you, yet you sit idly here, and profess yourself unable to assist him.”
“A warrant is out against you; nevertheless, you still consider the Prince your friend. That is curious!” she remarked, with a touch of sarcasm.
“Most certainly. It was Oustromoff’s doings. His Highness is powerless to control the Ministry of Police.”
“And you believe that you will be safe in England?” she inquired dubiously.
“I believe so, providing that I exercise care,” he responded. “After to-night it is best that we should remain strangers—you understand?”