“What!” she exclaimed, “what!”--and bending forward touched my arm. “Tell me again! Tell me again!” “He is following a clue, Madame de Stämer, which he hopes will lead to the truth.” “Ah! if I could believe it would lead to the truth,” she said. “If I dared to believe this.” “Why should it not?” She shook her head, smiling with such a resigned sadness that I averted my gaze and glanced across at Val Beverley who was seated on the opposite side of the bed. “If you knew--if you knew.” I looked again into the tragic face, and realized that this was an older woman than the brilliant hostess I had known. She sighed, shrugged, and: “Tell me, M. Knox,” she continued, “it was swift and merciful, eh?” “Instantaneous,” I replied, in a low voice. “A good shot?” she asked, strangely. “A wonderful shot,” I answered, thinking that she imposed unnecessary torture upon herself. “They say he must be taken away, M. Knox, but I reply: not until I have seen him.” “Madame,” began Val Beverley, gently. “Ah, my dear!” Madame de Stämer, without looking at the speaker, extended one hand in her direction, the fingers characteristically curled. “You do not know me. Perhaps it is a good job. You are a man, Mr. Knox, and men, especially men who write, know more of women than they know of themselves, is it not so? You will understand that I must see him again?” “Madame de Stämer,” I said, “your courage is almost terrible.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I am not proud to be brave, my friend. The animals are brave, but many cowards are proud. Listen again. He suffered no pain, you think?” “None, Madame de Stämer.” “So Dr. Rolleston assures me. He died in his sleep? You do not think he was awake, eh?” “Most certainly he was not awake.” “It is the best way to die,” she said, simply. “Yet he, who was brave and had faced death many times, would have counted it”----she snapped her white fingers, glancing across the room to where Inspector Aylesbury, very subdued, sat upon the brocaded chair twirling his cap between his hands. “And now, Inspector Aylesbury,” she asked, “what is it you wish me to tell you?” “Well, Madame,” began the Inspector, and stood up, evidently in an endeavour to recover his dignity, but: “Sit down, Mr. Inspector! I beg of you be seated,” cried Madame. “I will not be questioned by one who stands. And if you were to walk about I should shriek.” He resumed his seat, clearing his throat nervously. “Very well, Madame,” he continued, “I have come to you particularly for information respecting a certain Mr. Camber.” “Oh, yes,” said Madame. Her vibrant voice was very low. “You know him, no doubt?” “I have never met him.” “What?” exclaimed the Inspector. Madame shrugged and glanced at me eloquently.