“This man, then—­your—­your husband—­was he a bad man?”

“A dreadful man.”

“Before he came here last night, how long since you saw him?”

“Eighteen months.”

“Where did you live when you saw him last?”

“In Pimlico.”

“Does anybody about here know you as Mrs. Walenn?”

“No.  When I came here, after my little girl died, I came to live a bad life.  Nobody knows me at all.  I am quite alone.”

“If they discover who he was, they will look for his wife?”

“I do not know.  He did not let people think I was married to him.  I was very young; he treated many, I think, like me.”

“Do you think he was known to the police?”

She shook her head.  “He was very clever.”

“What is your name now?”

“Wanda Livinska.”

“Were you known by that name before you were married?”

“Wanda is my Christian name.  Livinska—­I just call myself.”

“I see; since you came here.”

“Yes.”

“Did my brother ever see this man before last night?”

“Never.”

“You had told him about his treatment of you?”

“Yes.  And that man first went for him.”

“I saw the mark.  Do you think anyone saw my brother come to you?”

“I do not know.  He says not.”

“Can you tell if anyone saw him carrying the—­the thing away?”

“No one in this street—­I was looking.”

“Nor coming back?”

“No one.”

“Nor going out in the morning?”

“I do not think it.”

“Have you a servant?”

“Only a woman who comes at nine in the morning for an hour.”

“Does she know Larry?”

“No.”

“Friends, acquaintances?”

“No; I am very quiet.  And since I knew your brother, I see no one. 
Nobody comes here but him for a long time now.”

“How long?”

“Five months.”

“Have you been out to-day?”

“No.”

“What have you been doing?”

“Crying.”

It was said with a certain dreadful simplicity, and pressing her hands together, she went on: 

“He is in danger, because of me.  I am so afraid for him.”  Holding up his hand to check that emotion, he said: 

“Look at me!”

She fixed those dark eyes on him, and in her bare throat, from which the coat had fallen back, he could see her resolutely swallowing down her agitation.

“If the worst comes to the worst, and this man is traced to you, can you trust yourself not to give my brother away?”

Her eyes shone.  She got up and went to the fireplace: 

“Look!  I have burned all the things he has given me—­even his picture.  Now I have nothing from him.”

Keith, too, got up.

“Good!  One more question:  Do the police know you, because—­because of your life?”