"Just! I am indignant. Are you not aware I am a married woman--that I have a child? How dare you. But that I insist upon an explanation, I would have you turned out of the house!" "Bocaros arose. There is no need; I will go." "No. You will speak out," said she imperiously. "I will go," insisted the professor, "and I will take my information to the police." "It is a pity you were not earlier," sneered Mrs. Fane. "Inspector Derrick, who had charge of the case, was with my husband." "I met them going out of the door," replied Bocaros serenely. "Had I known the gentleman with Mr. Fane was a police officer, I might have been tempted to speak. But I was resolved to give you a chance to exculpate yourself." "From what?" demanded Mrs. Fane angrily. "From participation in the murder of this poor----" "How dare you come and accuse me," she burst out furiously. "You must be mad!" "I have proofs which will prove my sanity," said Bocaros, moving to the door. "But I can show them to Derrick." Mrs. Fane intercepted him. "Stop where you are," she said sharply. "This matter must be sifted to the bottom. Afterwards I shall go with you myself to the police-station. If you cannot prove what you have said, I shall have you arrested for threatening language." "Oh, I can prove everything," said Bocaros, returning to his seat. "And since we now understand one another, we can proceed." "You will proceed," retorted Mrs. Fane, sitting down also, to answer my questions, "or you will get into trouble, my good man. You say that Mr. Calvert was in this room on the night of the murder?" Bocaros nodded, sure of his ground. "He left this house at eleven. He was in his stage dress and spoke to the policeman. He dropped the latch-key, and murdered----" "Stop. You can't be sure that he did. The woman was murdered earlier. During the evening Mr. Calvert was at the theatre." "No. His part was played by his understudy up till half-past nine. He then played in the last act and came here. He came here earlier," insisted the professor, "and murdered the woman to get the money." "It might be so," muttered Mrs. Fane. "The dagger was a stage one, and I knew from Laura that he wore one in the second act of the play." "He used the dagger and then threw it away into the dustbin." "Nonsense," said Mrs. Fane, with a shrug. "How could he get to the dustbin when the back of the house was locked up?" This was a puzzle to Bocaros, but he faced it boldly. "Calvert entered the house by your connivance, and could easily have unbarred the back door to conceal his weapon." "Oh!" Mrs. Fane looked sharply at her visitor. "So you accuse me of admitting the man?" "I do. You had your husband's latch-key, or had a copy made. You expected Calvert, and admitted him. Afterwards you gave him the key to let himself out while you averted suspicion by singing." "Indeed! And how did I escape?"