"Needs must, when the Devil drives," she snapped. "Thanks for the compliment," laughed Jack. "If any one knows the gentleman by sight, it must be you!" "I shall go with them," Juliet said. "Of course!" agreed Manners. Madame Veno turned and glared at her. "You gave us away in spite of your promise. You deserve to see what you _will_ see down there. A dead man--killed by your husband. You'll save your dear Duke only to have him sent to the chair." Juliet gave her look for look. "I didn't give you away. I did not dream my cousin was coming here! And I'd know by your face, even if I didn't know Claremanagh, that he has killed no man. If there's a dead man where my husband is, someone else committed the murder." "Hear, hear! your Grice!" shouted Nickson, before he could remember to be respectful. Suddenly Juliet heard herself laughing. Then she began to sob: "Oh, Pat--Pat! Nick, take me to him!" Nickson flung Piggott across the room, and grabbed Madame Veno by the arm. The next thing the Duchess knew, the door had shut behind them. Jack was left alone with the two men. But Juliet had forgotten Jack. CHAPTER XXII THE WHOLE OF THE SECRET Madame Veno--alias Mrs. Sam Piggott--had a key to the door of the janitor's flat. She, her husband, and their associates could come and go as they chose when the janitor was away or upstairs. "You won't get anything out of your husband," she said to Juliet as the three went down, she leading with mingled defiance and reluctance. "He hasn't come back to his senses yet. It wasn't so much the blow--mind you, my husband was within his rights, defending his brother-in-law from assault!--it wasn't the blow so much as the fall. The Duke fell on the back of his head. It was concussion. We had a doctor in--a friend of ours we could trust. And we weren't going to let you know till we were sure he was out of danger--ready to be moved. If he has to stand his trial for killing Markoff, why----" "How does a man with concussion of the brain commit murder?" Juliet's question stabbed like a stiletto. By this time they were at the door of the basement flat, and Madame Veno was fumbling with a bunch of keys, Nickson's eyes upon her hands. "Naturally the killing was done before the concussion," Madame sneered. "The Duke hated Markoff because of Pavoya. Perhaps he had reason. But that won't help him with a jury!" Juliet could have struck the woman and trampled her under foot. She turned upon her in the dimly lit passage so fiercely that the nervous fingers jumped and let fall the key. "You fool!" the Duchess said. "You told me I should see a dead man here. Yet according to your own story my husband was struck down the night after I saw him last. One doesn't keep a dead man in a flat for weeks!"