She sprang for the door but even as she moved she heard the click of the bolt shot back.  He touched the electric switch and the room was suddenly in darkness.  She heard him coming towards her, she felt his hot breath upon her cheek.

“My loving wife!” he whispered.  “At last!”

CHAPTER XXV

THE MADMAN TALKS

Tavernake turned on the light.  Pritchard, with a quick leap forward, seized Wenham around the waist and dragged him away.  Elizabeth had fainted; she lay upon the floor, her face the color of marble.

“Get some water and throw over her,” Pritchard ordered.

Tavernake obeyed.  He threw open the window and let in a current of air.  In a moment or two the woman stirred and raised her head.

“Look after her for a minute,” Pritchard said.  “I Il lock this fierce little person up in the bathroom.”

Pritchard carried his prisoner out.  Tavernake leaned over the woman who was slowly coming back to consciousness.

“Tell me about it,” she asked, hoarsely.  “Where is he?”

“Locked up in the bathroom,” Tavernake answered.  “Pritchard is taking care of him.  He won’t be able to get out.”

“You know who it was?” she faltered.

“I do not,” Tavernake replied.  “It isn’t my business.  I’m only here because Pritchard begged me to come.  He thought he might want help.”

She held his fingers tightly.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“In the bathroom when you arrived.  Then he bolted the door behind and we had to come round through your bedroom.”

“How did Pritchard find out?”

“I know nothing about it,” Tavernake replied.  “I only know that he peered through the latticework and saw you sitting there at supper.”

She smiled weakly.

“It must have been rather a shock to him,” she said.  “He has been convinced for the last six months that I murdered Wenham, or got rid of him by some means or other.  Help me up.”

She staggered to her feet.  Tavernake assisted her to an easy chair.  Then Pritchard came in.

“He is quite safe,” he announced, “sitting on the edge of the bath playing with a doll.”

She shivered.

“What is he doing with it?” she asked.

“Showing me exactly, with a shawl pin, where he meant to have stabbed you,” Pritchard answered, drily.  “Now, my dear lady,” he continued, “it seems to me that I have done you one injustice, at any rate.  I certainly thought you’d helped to relieve the world of that young person.  Where did he come from?  Perhaps you can tell me that.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“I suppose I may as well,” she said.  “Listen, you have seen what he was like to-night, but you don’t know what it was to live with him.  It was Hell!”—­she sobbed—­“absolute Hell!  He drank, he took drugs, it was all his servant could do to force him even to make his toilet.  It was impossible.  It was crushing the life out of me.”