"And he is engaged to marry your sister?" "Mrs. Fane could not stand any more of this intrusion into her private affairs, and rose. Will you please to state your business and go!" "There is no need to speak to me like that, madame," said Bocaros, keeping his seat. "My cousin left me the money--afterwards she changed her mind and made a new will, leaving it to Calvert." "Well, sir, and what has this to do with me?" "A great deal, as you will find. I want to learn who killed this woman, Mrs. Fane." "And you come to me. I fear I cannot assist you." "Oh yes, I think you can." "Sir, you are insolent!" Mrs. Fane, drawing herself up to her full height, was about to press the button of the bell. Bocaros stopped her. "Wait a little," he said; "you can help me by explaining how you came to be in this room on the night of the murder." Mrs. Fane's hand fell, and she stared at the man. "I was not." "You were! Your voice was heard--you sang a favourite song." "Indeed!" Mrs. Fane thought for a moment, but without losing her colour or self-possession in the face of this accusation. Then she returned to her seat, resolved to give this strange man a hearing. "I was at the seaside when the crime was committed." "So I believe--your husband also?" "My husband also," said Mrs. Fane calmly. "Will you be so kind as to tell me what you mean by these questions?" "I want to prove the guilt of Calvert." "I cannot help you to do so," she said impatiently. "Yes, you can," persisted Bocaros. "Calvert was the young man who left this house while you were singing. You assisted him to escape. You met him here. He used the dagger to kill Flora Brand!" "What dagger?" "The stage weapon which the cook found in the dustbin, and which you said belonged to you." Mrs. Fane leaned her chin on the tips of her fingers, thinking. "You are a gentleman," said she gravely. "I am, madame. I am a Greek noble--the Baron Bocaros." "The curled lip of Mrs. Fane showed that she thought very little of a foreign title, but she went on quietly, watching the man all the time like a cat. And, indeed, she did not look unlike a magnificent white cat, sleek and feline and treacherous. Bocaros, hard as he was, winced at the regard of her narrow eyes. Well, then, Baron Bocaros," said Mrs. Fane in her low sweet voice, "I will be plain with you. I said that the dagger was mine, to shield Mr. Calvert----" "I know. You are in love with him," burst out the professor. "What do you mean, sir?" demanded the woman, a tide of crimson flushing her face. "I detest the man." "But I thought----" "Then do not think, if your thoughts lead you into such follies. What? I love Arnold Calvert--that doll of a man who----" "Madame," interrupted Bocaros, wondering if this indignation was feigned. "Calvert is my enemy, yet I say he is a manly and handsome young gentleman. Be just!"