"I don't think so," replied Dowker, coolly taking out the hat from the newspaper. "Do you know this?" At the sight of the hat the woman became violently agitated. "Yes; where did you get this?" "It was on the head of the woman who was murdered." The other gave a cry and staggered back. "Oh, my God!" she said, under her breath, "what does it all mean?" "Mean? It means that Lydia Fenny is dead." "No!" she cried vehemently, "not dead." "How do you know?" "Because I am Lydia Fenny." Dowker stared at her aghast. "Yes," she went on rapidly, "the hat is mine; how did you find out I was the owner?" "I went to Madame Rêne and she told me you bought it from her; but who was the dead woman?" Lydia Fenny again gave a cry. "I'm afraid to say--I'm afraid to say; how was she dressed?" "In a sealskin jacket, a silk dress and that hat." Lydia wrung her hands in despair. "It must be true," she moaned; "it is the dress she wore." "Who wore?" asked Dowker in an excited tone. "My mistress--Miss Sarschine." The case seemed to be more mysterious than ever; instead of the maid it was the mistress. Dowker took a photograph of the deceased and gave it to Lydia. "Who is that?" he asked eagerly. "Miss Sarchine," she replied quickly; "but what is the matter with her face?" "Swollen by poison." "Poison?" "Yes. On Monday last she was found lying dead in Jermyn Street, killed by a poisoned dagger." "Last Monday night!" said Lydia with a gasp, "that was the last time I saw her." "Look here," said Dowker quietly, "you'd better tell me all about it. I am employed in the case and I want to discover who murdered your mistress; so tell me all you know." Lydia Fenny, who seemed to possess strong nerves, sat down and began to speak deliberately. "I will tell you everything and help you to bring the murderer of my poor mistress to justice but I don't know anyone who would have killed her. She lived a very quiet life and had few friends. Lord Calliston came here very frequently, and she was very much in love with him. Where she came from I don't know, as I have only been with her about a year, but he often told her he would make her his wife, and she was always imploring him to do so. About three months ago he met some great lady----" "Lady Balscombe?" "Yes, that was the name--and fell in love with her. He neglected Miss Sarschine and she reproached him. There was a lot of trouble and quarrelling between them and Lord Calliston stayed away a good bit. Three weeks ago I went away for a holiday, and when I came back I found my mistress in a terrible state. She had discovered in some way that Lord Calliston had determined to elope with Lady Balscombe and go off to the Azores in his yacht. Miss Sarschine was mad with rage; she said she would kill them both; and then thought she'd play a trick upon Lord Calliston and go off with him instead. This was on Monday last." "The time of the murder," murmured Dowker.