any such person. She never mentioned such a place as a studio on Washington Square. I don’t believe she had ever been there before. And perhaps I was too hard on Mr. Barham. He was never unkind to his wife. They were probably as fond of each other as most married people.”
Hutchins was amazed. Surely, this was the talk of a rational woman.
“Does Mr. Barham play cards?” he asked, trying to make the question sound casual, though it was of importance to him.
“Not much. He plays Bridge, but an indifferent game. My daughter was a brilliant player—a renowned player. But she had bad luck—always. And she lost.”
“Large sums?”
“Oh, yes, enormous.”
“And Mr. Barham objected?”
“He didn’t know it. At least he didn’t know how very large they were.”
“How did she pay them?”
“I gave her money frequently—then, of course, sometimes she won—and sometimes, I think, she borrowed from her friends.”
“And from me,” Claudine said, unable to resist the temptation to speak. “Many times did I lend Madame the money for the gamble.”
“Did she repay you?” asked Hutchins.
“Sometimes, not always.”
“Some is still due you, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hush, Claudine, it will be paid, as you well know. How dare you say a word against that sainted child! My Madeleine! My baby!”
Hutchins had already had enough experience to know that this was the precursor to another tantrum, and he
