"To deny it is useless," I said determinedly. "The insidious poison you have used is the vayana, and the only specimen in England bearing fruit is standing there in your greenhouse." And as I uttered those words I closed the door leading beyond, and, locking it, placed the key in my pocket. Her teeth were firmly set. She glanced at me and tried to deny the allegation, but so utterly was she taken aback by my sudden denunciation that words failed her. A moment later, however, taking several paces forward to where we stood, she cried with a sudden outburst of uncontrollable anger-- "You--Beryl Wynd--I hate you! I swore that you should die, and you shall--you shall!" But I stepped between them, firm and determined. I saw that this woman was a veritable virago, and that now we had cornered her so neatly she was capable of any crime. "I demand to know the truth!" I said in a hard, distinct voice. "You will know nothing from me," she snarled. "That woman has betrayed me!" she added, indicating Beryl. "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.