“No; it was not on the boat.  I did not leave my stateroom on the boat.  But I am quite sure that I have seen him—­and yet I can’t say where.”

“Perhaps,” I said, in a low voice, “he may have been one of the friends of your husband.”

I saw her hand tremble under the blow, but it had to be struck.  And she was brave.

“The same thought occurred to me, Mr. Lester,” she answered; “but I know very few of my husband’s friends; certainly not this one.  And yet....  Perhaps my maid can help us.”

Photograph in hand, she stepped through the doorway into the outer room.  The maid was sitting on the chair where we had left her; her hands clenched tightly together in her lap, as though it was only by some violent effort she could maintain her self-control.

“Julie,” said the veiled lady, in rapid French, “I have here the photograph of a man who was killed in this room most mysteriously a few days ago.  These gentlemen wish to identify him.  The face seems to me somehow familiar, but I cannot place it.  Look at it.”

Julie put forth a shaking hand, took the photograph, and glanced at it; then, with a long sigh, slid limply to the floor, before either Godfrey or I could catch her.

As she fell, her veil, catching on the chair-back, was torn away; and, looking down at her, a great emotion burst within me, for I recognised the mysterious woman whose photograph d’Aurelle had carried in his watch-case.

CHAPTER XV

THE SECRET OF THE UNKNOWN FRENCHMAN

For a moment, I stood spell-bound, staring down at that jaded and passion-stained countenance; then Godfrey sprang forward and lifted the unconscious woman to the couch.

“Bring some water,” he said, and as he turned and looked at me, I saw that his face was glowing with excitement.

I rushed to the door and snatched it open.  Rogers was standing in the hall outside, and I sent him hurrying for the water, and turned back into the room.

Godfrey was chafing the girl’s hands, and the veiled lady was bending over her, fumbling at the hooks of her bodice.  Evidently she could not see them, for, with a sudden movement, she put back her veil.  My heart warmed to her at that act of sacrifice; and after a single glance at her, I turned away my eyes.

I saw Godfrey’s start of recognition as he looked down at her; then he, too, looked aside.

“Here’s the water, sir,” said Rogers, and handed me glass and pitcher.

The next instant, his eyes fell upon the woman on the couch.  He stood staring, his face turning slowly purple; then, clutching at his throat, he half-turned and fell, just as I had seen him do once before.

Hornblower, who was staring at the unconscious woman and mopping his face feverishly, spun around at the crash.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he said, in a hoarse voice, as he saw Rogers extended on the floor at his feet.  “What’s the matter with this house, anyway?”