"If you would only make the effort," she said coaxingly, "my beautiful
Madame Holymead would be for ever grateful."
"Mademoiselle, once more I repeat that what you ask is impossible,"
returned Crewe decisively. "I repeat, I cannot see why Mrs. Holymead
should object to answering a few questions the police wish to ask her.
She is too sensitive about such a trifle."
Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders slightly in tacit recognition of the
fact that the man in front of her was too shrewd to be deceived by
subterfuge.
"There is another reason, monsieur," she whispered.
"You had better tell it to me."
"If you had been a woman you would have guessed. The great judge who was
killed was in his spare moments what you call a gallant--he did love my
sex. In France this would not matter, but in England they think much of
it--so very much. Madame Holymead is frightened for fear the least breath
of scandal should attach to her name, if the world knew that the police
agent had visited her house on such an errand. Madame is innocent--it is
not necessary to assure you of that; but the prudish dames of England are
censorious."
"The Scotland Yard people are not likely to disclose anything about it,"
said Crewe.
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