“How long has it been, Mrs. Welles, since you—­accomplished your purpose?” he asked slowly.

“You know as well as I do,” she cried angrily.

“You were there.  It was yesterday—­no, the day before.”

“It was just a week ago we found her,” Brencherly said in a low voice.  “I had to look up everything and verify everything.”

“You don’t think I did it?” she burst out angrily.  “Well, I’ll prove it.  I tell you I did, and I thought it all out carefully, although the doctor says I can’t think connectedly.  I’ll show him.”  She fumbled in the breast of her dress for a moment, and brought out her cherished handful of newspaper clippings, which she cast triumphantly upon the table.  “There’s all about him from the papers, and a picture of the house.  Why, I’d ‘a’ been a fool not to find him, and I had to.  Oh, yes, I suppose, as the doctor says, I’m queer; but I wasn’t when he first began sending me away—­no, indeed.  I wasn’t good enough for him, that was all; and I was far from home, and hadn’t a friend, and he had money.  Oh, he was clever—­but he’s the devil.  He used to file his horns off so people wouldn’t see, but I know.  So, I’ll tell you everything, except how I got away.  There’s somebody else I may want to find.”  She glanced with infinite cunning at Brencherly, and began her finger signals as if practicing a dumb alphabet of which he alone knew the key.

“Where did you receive her from, Doctor?” Field asked.

“From Ogdensburg, sir.  Before that they told me she was found wandering, and put under observation in Troy.  All I knew was that somebody wanted her kept in a private institution.  She’d always been in one, I fancy.”

There was a pause as Field seemed lost in thought.  Then he turned to Gard.

“May I ask you to clear one point?” he asked “You gave evidence that he was alive when you entered the room.  According to her story—­”

“I lied,” said Gard, his pale face suffused with color.  “I had to—­I was most urgently needed in Washington.  I would have been detained, perhaps prevented altogether from leaving.  Who knows—­I might even have been accused.  I plead guilty of suppressing the facts.”

There was silence in the room.  The attorney’s eyes were turned upon the self-confessed perjurer.  In them was a question.  Gard met their gaze gravely, without flinching.  Field nodded slowly.

“You’re right; publicity can only harm,” he said at last.  “We will see what can be done.  I’ll take the proper steps.  It can be done legally and verified by the other witnesses.  The butler identifies her, you say.  It’s a curious case of retribution.  I can’t help imagining Mahr’s feelings when he recognized her voice.  Is your patient at all dangerous otherwise?” He addressed himself to the nurse.

“No,” she answered.  “We’ve never seen it.  Irritable, of course, but not vicious.  I can’t imagine her doing such a thing.  But you never can tell, sir—­not with this sort.”