Sydney Barnes was wholly unabashed. He watched Wrayson pour brandy between the girl's lips, bathe her temples, and chafe her hands. All the time he stood doggedly waiting close by. No considerations of decency or humanity would weigh with him for one single second. The fever of his great desire still ran like fire through his veins. He did not think of the girl as a human creature at all. Simply there was a pair of lips there which might point out to him the way to his Paradise. She opened her eyes at last. Sydney Barnes came a step nearer, but Wrayson pushed him once more roughly away. "You are feeling better?" he asked kindly. She nodded, and struggled up into a sitting posture. "Tell me," she said, "how did he die? It must have been quite sudden. Was it an accident?--or--or--" He saw the terror in her eyes, and he spoke quickly. All the time he found himself wondering how it was that she was guessing at the truth. "We are afraid," he said "that he was murdered. It is surprising that you did not read about it in the papers." She shook her head. "I do not read much," she said, "and the name was different. Who was it--that killed him?" "No one knows," he answered. "When was it?" she asked. He told her the date. She repeated it tearfully. "He was down with me the day before," she said. "He was terribly excited all the time, and I know that he was a little afraid of something happening to him. He had been threatened!" "Do you know by whom?" Wrayson asked. She shook her head. "He never told me," she answered. "He didn't tell me much. But he was very, very good to me. I was at the refreshment-room at London Bridge when I first met him. He used to come in and see me every day. Then he began to take me out, and at last he found me a little house down at Putney, and I was so happy. I had been so tired all my life," she added, with a little sigh, "and down there I did nothing but rest and rest and wait for him to come. It was too good to last, of course, but I didn't think it would end like this!" Quietly but very persistently Sydney Barnes insisted on being heard. "It's my turn now," he said, standing by Wrayson's side. "Look here, Miss, I'm his brother. You can see that, can't you?" "You are something like him," she admitted, "only he was much, much nicer to look at than you." "Never mind that," he continued eagerly. "I'm his brother, his nearest relative. Everything he left behind belongs to me!" "Not--quite everything," she protested. "What do you mean?" he asked sharply. "You may be his brother," she answered, "but I," holding out her left hand a little nervously, "I was his wife!" CHAPTER XXXVI THE MURDERED MAN'S EFFECTS Both men had been totally unprepared for the girl's timid avowal. To Wrayson, however, after the first mild shock of surprise, it was of no special import. To Sydney Barnes, although he made a speedy effort to grapple with the situation, it came very much as a thunderclap.