"As I have told Mr. Hornblower," I continued, "two men died in this room the day before yesterday. Or, rather, it was in the room beyond that they died; but we believed it was here they received the wounds which caused death. It seems that we were wrong in this." "Undoubtedly," she agreed. "There has never been any such weird mechanism as you described connected with that drawer, Mr. Lester. At least, not since I have had it. There is a legend, you know, that the cabinet was made for Madame de Montespan." She was talking more freely now; evidently a great load had been lifted from her--perhaps I did not guess how great! "Mr. Vantine suspected as much," I said. "He was a connoisseur of furniture, and there was something about this cabinet which told him it had belonged to the Montespan. He was examining it at the time he died. What the other man was doing, we do not know, but if we could identify him, it might help us." "You have not identified him?" "We know nothing whatever about him, except that he was presumably a Frenchman, and that he arrived on _La Touraine_, two days ago." "That is the boat upon which I came over." "It has occurred to me, madame, that you may have seen him--that he may even be known to you." "What was his name?" "The card he sent in to Mr. Vantine bore the name of Théophile d'Aurelle." She shook her head. "I have never before heard that name, Mr. Lester." "We believe it to have been an assumed name," I said; "but perhaps you will recognise this photograph," and I drew it from my pocket and handed it to her. She took it, looked at it, and again shook her head. Then she looked at it again, turning aside and raising her veil in order to see it better. "There seems to be something familiar about the face," she said, at last, "as though I might have seen the man somewhere." "On the boat, perhaps," I suggested, but I knew very well it was not on the boat, since the man had crossed in the steerage. "No; it was not on the boat. I did not leave my stateroom on the boat. But I am quite sure that I have seen him--and yet I can't say where." "Perhaps," I said, in a low voice, "he may have been one of the friends of your husband." I saw her hand tremble under the blow, but it had to be struck. And she was brave. "The same thought occurred to me, Mr. Lester," she answered; "but I know very few of my husband's friends; certainly not this one. And yet.... Perhaps my maid can help us." Photograph in hand, she stepped through the doorway into the outer room. The maid was sitting on the chair where we had left her; her hands clenched tightly together in her lap, as though it was only by some violent effort she could maintain her self-control. "Julie," said the veiled lady, in rapid French, "I have here the photograph of a man who was killed in this room most mysteriously a few days ago. These gentlemen wish to identify him. The face seems to me somehow familiar, but I cannot place it. Look at it."