‘I cannot conceive any reason for the act. I cannot suspect any one person more than another.’ ‘Are you positive that your wife had no valuables in her possession--money, for instance?’ ‘She spent her money faster than she earned it. We were always in debt. The little jewellery she had ever possessed had been pledged.’ ‘Are you sure that she had no valuable jewellery in her possession at the time of her death?’ ‘To my knowledge she had none.’ ‘That’s curious,’ said Mr. Leopold. ‘I heard a rumour at the time of a diamond necklace, which had been seen round her throat two or three evenings before the murder, by the dresser at the theatre. Your wife wore a broad band of black velvet round her neck when she was dressed for the stage, which entirely concealed the diamonds, and it was only by accident the dresser saw them.’ ‘This must be a fable,’ said Treverton. ‘My wife never possessed a diamond necklace. She was never in a position to buy one.’ ‘She may have been in a position to receive one as a gift,’ suggested Mr. Leopold quietly. ‘She was an honest woman.’ ‘Granted. Such gifts are given to honest women. Not often, perhaps, but the thing is possible. Her possession of that diamond necklace may have become known to the murderer, and may have tempted him to the crime.’ Treverton was silent. He remembered his wife’s anonymous admirer, the giver of the bracelet. He had dismissed the man from his thoughts after his interview with the jeweller. No other gifts had appeared, and he had felt no further uneasiness on the subject. ‘Have you thought of all the people in the house?’ asked Mr. Leopold. John Treverton shrugged his shoulders. ‘What can I think about them? No one in the house could have had any motive for murdering my wife.’ ‘It is pretty clear that the murder was not done by any one outside the house,’ said Mr. Leopold, ‘unless, indeed, the street door had been left open in the course of the evening, so as to enable the murderer to slip in quietly, and hide himself until every one had gone to bed. At what time did your wife generally return from the theatre?’ ‘About twelve o’clock; oftener before twelve than after.’ ‘The murderer may have followed her into the house. She had a latch-key, I suppose?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘She may have been careless in closing the door, and left it unfastened. It is quite possible that some one may have entered the house after her, and left it quietly when his work was done.’ ‘Quite,’ answered Treverton, with a bitter smile. ‘But if we do not know who that some one was, the fact won’t help us.’ ‘How about this man who occupied the second floor--this Desrolles? What is he?’ ‘A broken-down gentleman,’ answered Treverton, with a troubled look. He had a peculiar reluctance in speaking of Desrolles. ‘He could not be anything worse,’ said Mr. Leopold sententiously. ‘This Desrolles was in the house at the time of the murder. Strange that he should have heard nothing of the struggle.’