“Find Danvers quickly, Mary!” said Lady Molly, calmly. “You’ll find him outside. Bring a doctor back with you.” Even as she spoke Lady Irene, with a cry of agony, fell senseless in my dear lady’s arms. The doctor, I may tell you, came too late. The unfortunate woman evidently had a good knowledge of poisons. She had been determined not to fail; in case of discovery, she was ready and able to mete out justice to herself. I don’t think the public ever knew the real truth about the woman in the big hat. Interest in her went the way of all things. Yet my dear lady had been right from beginning to end. With unerring precision she had placed her dainty finger on the real motive and the real perpetrator of the crime--the ambitious woman who had married solely for money, and meant to have that money even at the cost of one of the most dastardly murders that have ever darkened the criminal annals of this country. I asked Lady Molly what it was that first made her think of Lady Irene as the possible murderess. No one else for a moment had thought her guilty. “The big hat,” replied my dear lady with a smile. “Had the mysterious woman at Mathis’ been tall, the waitresses would not, one and all, have been struck by the abnormal size of the hat. The wearer must have been _petite_, hence the reason that under a wide brim only the chin would be visible. I at once sought for a _small_ woman. Our fellows did not think of that, because they are men.” You see how simple it all was! XI. SIR JEREMIAH’S WILL Many people have asked me whether I knew when, and in what circumstances, Lady Molly joined the detective staff at Scotland Yard, who she was, and how she managed to keep her position in Society--as she undoubtedly did--whilst exercising a profession which usually does not make for high social standing. Well, of course, there is much that I have known all along about my dear lady--just as much, in fact, as her aristocratic friends and relations did--but I had promised her not to let the general public know anything of her private life until she gave me leave to do so. Now things have taken a different turn, and I can tell you all I know. But I must go back some years for that, and recall to your mind that extraordinary crime known in those days as the Baddock Will Case, which sent one of the most prominent and popular young men in Society to penal servitude--a life sentence, mind you, which was considered to be remarkably lenient by a number of people who thought that Captain de Mazareen ought to have been hanged.