"Mrs. Duclos, I hope you will answer my next question as honestly as you have the previous ones. Had Madame Duclos heard of her daughter's death when she first presented herself to you?" "Since you ask me this, I must answer. She was in great distress, but did not tell me why, till I asked her where Angeline was. Then she broke down utterly and flinging herself face down on the sofa, sobbed and wailed and finally confided to us that a terrible accident had happened to the child and that she was lying dead in one of the city's great museums." "Did she say what accident?" "No; she was almost delirious with grief, and we couldn't question her. After the papers came and we had read the dreadful news, we tried to get from her some explanation of what it all meant, but now she wouldn't answer; before, she couldn't." "Did you ask her how she came to know that Angeline was dead, before the news was circulated outside the museum?" "Yes; but she did not answer, only looked at us. It was the most despairing look I ever saw in my life. It made it easier for us to promise her all she wanted, though we regretted having done this when we came to think the matter over." "So you positively do not know any more than this of what she has so religiously held secret?" "No; and I have got to the point where I do not wish to." "Did you know she was coming to this country?" "Yes--but not her reasons for doing so. She has been a little mysterious of late." "Did she say she was going to bring her daughter with her?" "Yes, she mentioned Angeline. Also the name of the ship on which they expected to sail." "Was this letter mailed from Paris or London?" "It came from Paris." "Did you understand that she was leaving France for good?" "I got that idea, certainly." "But not her reasons for it?" "No. The letter was very short and not very explicit. I really have given you all the information I have on this subject." "Mrs. Duclos, it is my duty to inform you that your sister-in-law had a deep and intense hatred for a man to us at present unknown. Can you name him? Is there anything in her early history or in what you know of her later life, here and abroad, to enlighten you as to his identity?" With a steady look and a slow shake of her head, Mrs. Duclos denied any such knowledge, even showing a marked surprise at what was evidently a new development to her. "Antoinette has had little to do with the men since our brother's death," she said. "I can hardly conceive of her being greatly interested either in favor of or against any of the opposite sex." "Yet she is--even to the point of wishing him dead." Mrs. Duclos rose quickly to her feet, but instantly sat again. "How do you know?" she asked. Should he tell her? At first he thought not; then he reconsidered his decision and spoke out plainly.