"But
tell me, does Madame de Staemer know yet?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean has she been told the truth?"
The girl shook her head.
"No," she replied; "I am positive that no one has told her. I was with
her all the time, up to the very moment that she fell asleep. Yet--"
She hesitated.
"Yes?"
"She knows! Oh, Mr. Knox! to me that is the most horrible thing of all:
that she knows, that she must have known all along--that the mere sound
of the shot told her everything!"
"You realize, now," I said, quietly, "that she had anticipated the
end?"
"Yes, yes. This was the meaning of the sorrow which I had seen so often
in her eyes, the meaning of so much that puzzled me in her words, the
explanation of lots of little things which have made me wonder in the
past."
I was silent for a while, then:
"If she was so certain that no one could save him," I said, "she must
have had information which neither he nor she ever imparted to us."
"I am sure she had," declared Val Beverley.
"But can you think of any reason why she should not have confided in
Paul Harley?"
"I cannot, I cannot--unless--"
"Yes?"
"Unless, Mr.
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