“Yes; but she did not answer, only looked at us.  It was the most despairing look I ever saw in my life.  It made it easier for us to promise her all she wanted, though we regretted having done this when we came to think the matter over.”

“So you positively do not know any more than this of what she has so religiously held secret?”

“No; and I have got to the point where I do not wish to.”

“Did you know she was coming to this country?”

“Yes—­but not her reasons for doing so.  She has been a little mysterious of late.”

“Did she say she was going to bring her daughter with her?”

“Yes, she mentioned Angeline.  Also the name of the ship on which they expected to sail.”

“Was this letter mailed from Paris or London?”

“It came from Paris.”

“Did you understand that she was leaving France for good?”

“I got that idea, certainly.”

“But not her reasons for it?”

“No.  The letter was very short and not very explicit.  I really have given you all the information I have on this subject.”

“Mrs. Duclos, it is my duty to inform you that your sister-in-law had a deep and intense hatred for a man to us at present unknown.  Can you name him?  Is there anything in her early history or in what you know of her later life, here and abroad, to enlighten you as to his identity?”

With a steady look and a slow shake of her head, Mrs. Duclos denied any such knowledge, even showing a marked surprise at what was evidently a new development to her.

“Antoinette has had little to do with the men since our brother’s death,” she said.  “I can hardly conceive of her being greatly interested either in favor of or against any of the opposite sex.”

“Yet she is—­even to the point of wishing him dead.”

Mrs. Duclos rose quickly to her feet, but instantly sat again.

“How do you know?” she asked.

Should he tell her?  At first he thought not; then he reconsidered his decision and spoke out plainly.

“Madam,” said he, “some day you will hear what I had rather you heard now and from me.  Madame Duclos left the lodging-house where she was so safe because she was detected, or was suspicious of having been detected, shooting the face from a photograph she had set up before her as a target in the small hours of the night.”

“Impossible!” The woman thus exclaiming was quite sincere.  “I cannot imagine Antoinette doing that.”

“Yet she did.  We have the remains of the photograph.”

“And who was the man?”

“When we know that, we shall know all, or be in the way of knowing all.”

“You alarm me!” She certainly looked alarmed.

“Why, madam?  Do you not think it better for the truth to be known in such a case?”

“You forget what I told you.  Antoinette will not survive the betrayal of her secret.  She said she would not, and she is a woman who weighs her words.  There is a firm edge to her resolves.  It has always worked for good till now.  I cannot bear to think of its working in any way for evil.”