“That’s a mistake,” he replied.  “She never threw me over, Mr. Headland; she never had the chance.  I found her out long before my father became anything like what you might call a rival, found her out as a mercenary, designing woman, and broke from her voluntarily.  I only wish that I had known that he had one serious thought regarding her.  I could have warned him; I could have spoken then.  But I never did find out until it was too late.  Trust her for that.  She waited until I had gone up-country to look after some fine old porcelains and enamels that the governor had heard about; then she hurried him off and tricked him into a hasty marriage.  Of course, after that I couldn’t speak—­I wouldn’t speak.  She was my father’s wife, and he was so proud of her, so happy, dear old boy, that I’d have been little better than a brute to say anything against her.”

“What could you have said if you had spoken?”

“Oh, lots of things—­the things that made me break away from her in the beginning.  She’d had more love affairs than one; her late father’s masquerading as a doctor for another.  They had only used that as a cloak.  They had run a gambling-house on the sly—­he as the card-sharper, she as the decoy.  They had drained one poor fellow dry, and she had thrown him over after leading him on to think that she cared for him and was going to marry him.  He blew out his brains in front of her, poor wretch.  They say she never turned a hair.  You wouldn’t believe it possible, if you saw her; she is so sweet and caressing, and so young and beautiful, you’d almost believe her an angel.  But there’s Travers in the background—­always Travers.”

“Travers!  Who is he?”

“Oh, one of her old flames, the only one she ever really cared for, they say.  She was supposed to have broken with him out there in Java, because they were too poor to marry; and now he’s come over to England, and he’s there, in the house with the dear old dad and me, and they are as thick as thieves together.  I’ve caught them whispering and prowling about together, in the grounds and along the lanes, after she has said ’Good night,’ and gone to her room and is supposed to be in bed.  There’s a houseful of her old friends three parts of the time.  They come and they go, but Travers never goes.  I know why”—­waxing suddenly excited, suddenly vehement—­“yes!  I know why.  He’s in the game with her!”

“Game!  What game, Mr. Bawdrey?  What is it that she is doing?”

“She’s killing my old dad!” he answered, with a sort of sob in his excited voice.  “She’s murdering him by inches, that’s what she’s doing, and I want you to help me bring it home to her.  God knows what it is she’s using or how she uses it; but you know what demons they are for secret poisons, those Javanese, what means they have of killing people without a trace.  And she was out there for years and years.  So, too, was Travers, the brute!  They know all the secrets of those beastly barbarians, and between them they’re doing something to my old dad.”