The song had stopped, and the phonograph was silent. Bocaros recovered his wits. "I still maintain that you were in London and in this house, Mrs. Fane," he said. "You may not have sung save by that instrument, but as for the rest I am sure. You left your house at Westcliff-on-Sea at half-past five; you caught the six train to town; you came here----" "Prove these accusations," she interrupted. "I have the evidence of the booking-clerk and a porter at the Southend station to prove how you were dressed and----" "Who can say how I was dressed?" "Your maid, Emily Doon!" "Ah!" Mrs. Fane turned grey to the lips. "She--she----" "You see it at last. Yes, madame, you made her sit in the drawing-room at Westcliff-on-Sea, acting as yourself. You dressed quietly, and she described your dress to me. It was the same as that of the lady seen by the porter and the booking-clerk. You returned by the midnight train, and you were here meanwhile between six and half-past eleven." "No! no! no!" said Mrs. Fane fiercely. "You are clever, sir, and you have found out much that I wished concealed. But not for the reason you give me. I did not kill this woman. I had no cause to kill the woman. I never saw her--I did not know her. I was not in this house----" "But I tell you----" "And I tell you," she cried, advancing and seizing the man's arm in a fierce grasp, "that you are wrong. Listen--to defend myself I must tell you what I had rather kept quiet. I suspected my husband of being in love with another woman. He received a letter on the morning of the twenty-fourth from her. I accused him--he denied. I was furious with rage. He said he was ill, and retired to bed. I did not see him all the day. When I went in the evening he was gone. I guessed he had gone to town to see this woman. It was after five. I guessed he would take the six train. I persuaded Emily to impersonate me. I went to town. On the Southend platform I saw my husband. I went in another carriage. At the Liverpool Street Station I missed him and----" "And you came on here?" "No, I did not. I never thought he would dare to bring any woman here--nor do I believe that he did so. Where he went I cannot say. But I waited at the Liverpool Street Station throughout that long evening. He came late and caught the midnight train. I went down also. He never saw me, and as I had discovered nothing I said nothing. He never thought that I had followed him: he never knew I was out of the house. When I saw the death in the papers I never suspected him. I do not suspect him now. Walter is too great a coward to commit a crime. And he certainly would not have got rid of his victim in his own house, thus bringing down the temple on his own head." "You believe him to be innocent?" asked Bocaros, puzzled.