“I cannot say; but I must first clear my conscience and then try to convince you that quarrel or no quarrel, he never took his own life. He was not that kind. He had an abnormal fear of death. I do not like to say it but he was a physical coward. I have seen him turn pale at the least hint of danger. He could no more have turned that muzzle upon his own breast than he could have turned it upon his baby. Some other hand shot him, Miss Strange. Remember the open window, the shattered mirror; and I think I know that hand.” Her head had fallen forward on her breast. The emotion she showed was not so eloquent of grief as of deep personal shame. “You think you know the man?” In saying this, Violet’s voice sunk to a whisper. It was an accusation of murder she had just heard. “To my great distress, yes. When Mr. Hammond and I were married,” the widow now proceeded in a more determined tone, “there was another man--a very violent one--who vowed even at the church door that George and I should never live out two full years together. We have not. Our second anniversary would have been in November.” “But--” “Let me say this: the quarrel of which I speak was not serious enough to occasion any such act of despair on his part. A man would be mad to end his life on account of so slight a disagreement. It was not even on account of the person of whom I’ve just spoken, though that person had been mentioned between us earlier in the evening, Mr. Hammond having come across him face to face that very afternoon in the subway. Up to this time neither of us had seen or heard of him since our wedding-day.” “And you think this person whom you barely mentioned, so mindful of his old grudge that he sought out your domicile, and, with the intention of murder, climbed the trellis leading to your room and turned his pistol upon the shadowy figure which was all he could see in the semi-obscurity of a much lowered gas-jet?” “A man in the dark does not need a bright light to see his enemy when he is intent upon revenge.” Miss Strange altered her tone. “And your husband? You must acknowledge that he shot off his pistol whether the other did or not.” “It was in self-defence. He would shoot to save his own life--or the baby’s.” “Then he must have heard or seen--” “A man at the window.” “And would have shot there?” “Or tried to.” “Tried to?” “Yes; the other shot first--oh, I’ve thought it all out--causing my husband’s bullet to go wild. It was his which broke the mirror.” Violet’s eyes, bright as stars, suddenly narrowed. “And what happened then?” she asked. “Why cannot they find the bullet?” “Because it went out of the window;--glanced off and went out of the window.” Mrs. Hammond’s tone was triumphant; her look spirited and intense. Violet eyed her compassionately. “Would a bullet glancing off from a mirror, however hung, be apt to reach a window so far on the opposite side?”