"I don't deny it. The man treated me shamefully. I was a good wife to him." Miss Berry--as it is best to call her--squeezed out a tear. "But he--he--well, what's the use of going over the old ground. You know how jealous he was." "And I know how he loved you," said Eustace, pointedly. "What about yourself?" she responded flippantly. "I never lost the right of calling myself your husband's friend." "No," she taunted, "you hadn't the pluck to do that. You pretended to love me, yet when I would have given you myself and a fortune you drew back." "The price was too high. And you got someone else to put him out of the way." Fairy Fan rose indignantly. "I never did!" she declared vehemently. "I was in Chicago at the time. When Anchor's conduct became unbearable I went with my uncle to that city. It was there that we heard of his death." "Shot and stabbed, wasn't he?" "Yes. But not by me--not by my uncle, although he was angry at the way in which I had been treated. I left Anchor and intended to get a divorce--but circumstances made me his widow." "Did it make you a rich woman also?" asked Eustace, remembering the last interview he had with her. "No," she said quietly. "You never gave me time to tell you about the money. Anchor speculated, and lost his fortune. However, he knew, through some Indian, of a treasure--a Spanish treasure which was buried in a certain place. I wanted him to tell me the secret, but he would not. When he died he took the secret along with him. I am as poor now as I was then, and I shouldn't be acting at the Piccadilly Theatre if I wasn't." "Why was the death of your husband necessary to your learning the secret?" demanded Jarman, quickly. Fairy Fan arranged herself on the sofa and took out a case, which she opened, "It wasn't," she said, blandly, selecting a cigarette. "But I feared I wouldn't get a divorce, and so I wished him out of the way. You were too scrupulous, although all you had to do was to pick a quarrel with him. You were a better shot than he was." "I don't commit murder even for love, Mrs. Anchor." "Berry, if you please. Love!" she repeated, lighting the cigarette. "You don't know the meaning of the word. Had you really and truly loved me you would have rid me of the man who struck me." "Did he strike you?" "I was beaten black and blue. I told you so," she retorted. "Would any woman put up with that treatment? I hated the man!" She clenched her small fist, and her face grew angry. "I would have killed him myself had I been able." "Perhaps, as you didn't, you got someone else to--" "How dare you say that, Eustace!" Jarman winced as she called him by the old name. "I tell you I knew nothing of the matter. If you have come here to denounce me for the murder of my husband, you have wasted your time. There is no evidence which can connect me with that crime, or my uncle either. We are quite at our ease--quite!"