tomers who tell me all they can—like you," he said, "so I have to adopt other means to learn the information withheld. I read it in their faces."
"Then—?" I began furiously.
"You need not trouble to tell me any more," he said quietly. "It is not necessary."
I cannot describe my sensations. They were too painful to he recognizable in pen and ink. My face burned and my lips were parched. I was almost sorry I had come. But the worst was over, and I must bring this loathsome interview to an end.
"Do you think that—that," I hated to use the horrible expression that I had heard from my mother's lips—"there is a woman in—in the case?"
"It is possible," he said indefinitely.
"Possible!" I echoed in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"Mrs. Ravener," said Mr. Rickaby, "I will not express an opinion; I have no right to do so. I will possess myself of all the information I can. I will find out where your husband goes."
"You will?" I exclaimed joyfully. "Then,
