I gave her the sheet of paper. "I guessed he was something of the kind. So this is the man who holds you in the hollow of his hand? I see." She might see, but I didn't. There was about her vision a clearness and coolness which made me shudder. It was dreadful to hear her talk in that cold-blooded way about anybody "holding me in the hollow of his hand." She continued to regard me in a manner which I had noticed about her once or twice of late, and which, although I said nothing about it, I resented. "Perhaps now I may be allowed to talk to you as if you were a reasonable man. During the last few days I have hardly known whether you wished me to regard you as a child." "My dear!" "You have been lying there, pretending to be ill, doing nothing, and worse than nothing, while your fate and my fate has been hanging by a hair. I had not thought that my husband could be so contemptible a thing." "Really, Lucy, I wish you wouldn't speak to me like that." "Possibly. I have discovered, too late, how you dislike to hear unpleasant things." "I don't know that I am peculiar in that respect." "I don't doubt that there are other backboneless creatures in existence besides yourself--unfortunately for their children and their wives." "Lucy, I won't have you talk to me like that--I won't." "Then get up and play the man! Do you know that the hue and cry is out all over England for you?" "For me?" "For the man who threw the woman from the train. 'The Three Bridges Tragedy,' they've christened it. The papers are full of it; it is the topic of the day. They have found the carriage from which she was thrown. It seems that it was all in disorder and stained with blood, and that the window was broken. You said nothing about that to me. They have found the porter who saw her into your carriage. Who was it saw you off from Brighton?" "Jack and George. Why do you ask?" "Because the porter who admitted her to your carriage declares that you were talking to two gentleman. They are looking for them now." "Surely they will never make Jack and George give evidence against me." "You may be sure they will. A porter has come forward who says he saw you in the carriage at Victoria. He has given a description of you, which is sufficiently like you to show that he will probably recognise you if he sees you again. It seems that the only thing they are in want of is your name." I sank back in bed, appalled. The prospect, in my weak state, was too terrible for contemplation. It seemed incredible that a wholly innocent man could, by any possibility, be placed in such a situation. My wife went on, her voice seeming to ring in my ears almost as if it had been a knell of doom--