“Martinez.”

“Did you suggest the holes through the wall?”

“No, he did.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“But the holes were bored for you?”

“Of course.”

“Because you wanted to see into the next room?”

“Yes,” in a low tone.

“And why?”

She hesitated a moment and then burst out in a flash of feeling:  “Because I knew that a wretched dancing girl was going to be there with——­”

“Yes?” eagerly.

“With my husband!”

CHAPTER XV

PUSSY WILMOTT’S CONFESSION

“Then your husband was the person you thought guilty that night?” questioned Coquenil.

“Yes.”

“You told M. Kittredge when you called for him in the cab that you thought your husband guilty?”

“Yes, but afterwards I changed my mind.  My husband had nothing to do with it.  If he had, do you suppose I would have told you this?  No doubt he has misconducted himself, but——­”

“You mean Anita?”

It was a chance shot, but it went true.

She stared at him in amazement.  “I believe you are the devil,” she said, and the detective, recalling his talk with M. Gritz, muttered to himself:  “The tall blonde!  Of course!”

And now Pussy, feeling that she could gain nothing against Coquenil by ruse or deceit, took refuge in simple truth and told quite charmingly how this whole tragic adventure had grown out of a foolish fit of jealousy.

“You see, I found a petit bleu on my husband’s dressing table one morning—­I wish to Heaven he would be more careful—­and I—­I read it.  It began ‘Mon gros bebe,’ and was signed ‘Ta petite Anita,’ and—­naturally I was furious.  I have often been jealous of Addison, but he has always managed to prove that I was in the wrong and that he was a perfect saint, so now I determined to see for myself.  It was a splendid chance, as the exact rendezvous was given, nine o’clock Saturday evening, in private room Number Seven at the Ansonia.  I had only to be there, but, of course, I couldn’t go alone, so I got this man, Martinez—­he was a perfect fool, I’m sorry he’s been shot, but he was—­I got him to take me, because, as I told you, he didn’t know me, and being such a fool, he would do whatever I wished.”

“What day was it you found the petit bleu?” put in Coquenil.

“It was Thursday.  I saw Martinez that afternoon, and on Friday, he reserved private room Number Six for Saturday evening.”

“And you are sure it was his scheme to bore the holes?”

“Yes, he said that would be an amusing way of watching Addison without making a scandal, and I agreed with him; it was the first clever idea I ever knew him to have.”

“That’s a good point!” reflected Coquenil.

“What is a good point?”