"Have I, then, no cause to object to your acquaintance with this man?" I inquired, looking sharply at her. "None whatever. He is neither my lover nor my friend." "What is his name?" "I do not know. He did not tell me," she replied. "Was this the only occasion you had met?" "It was." "He spoke to you casually in the street, I suppose?" "No, we met by appointment at Victoria Station," she answered quite frankly. "By appointment! Then you knew him!" "No, our meeting was arranged by a third person. It was by no means of an amatory character, I assure you." "What was its object?" I asked. Slowly she shook her head. "I cannot tell you without relating to you facts which I dare not yet divulge." "Ah! as I thought," I cried in anger. "You refuse always to explain. As each week passes the mystery surrounding you increases." "Unfortunately I cannot prevent it," she answered in a low, earnest tone. "Before we married I told you plainly that I intended to seek the truth of the conspiracy against Dudley's life, and you did not object." "Why not leave that wretched affair to the police and secure our own happiness?" I urged. "Because the police are powerless. They can have no clue." "Is it then absolutely necessary that you should attain this end?" I inquired dubiously. "Are you ready to sacrifice your own home and husband in order to ascertain the truth regarding a crime?" "Yes, it is absolutely imperative," she replied emphatically. "Before perfect happiness can be ours we must both be aware of the causes which led to Dudley's sudden death. Towards that end I am striving, and knowing what I do, I am regardless of your suspicions and your cruel words. If we part--well, it will be you who one day will be filled with bitter regret; and as for me, I shall not pause in my merciless quest." Often she had told me that to ascertain the true cause of Dudley's death was, next to her duty as my wife, her main object in life, and these words, uttered with an earnestness that was genuine, bore out her most frequent declarations. Glancing at the facts as a whole, it was not surprising that I should have suspected Dudley of having been her lover, whose death she intended to avenge. In silence and hesitation I paced the room that she had furnished with such exquisite taste. A dozen times she asked forgiveness, but no word passed my lips. She stood motionless, her head bent in submission, her hands clasped before her, awaiting my decision. Her pale, tear-stained face betrayed signs of a terrible, breathless suspense, she fearing that I intended to cast her off, while I could not bring myself to any firm belief that her declarations of affection were genuine. Between us there yawned a gulf of darkness and mystery which hourly grew wider and more impassable. "Tell me that you'll still be patient and wait," she implored at last. "Surely you can see how intensely I love you and how utterly aimless will be my life if we part."