e, with a sneer, "you think he would pay you
better than I. You are mistaken. I have plenty of money. My own money.
What is your price?"

Mr. Barnes arose from his seat, in anger, but perfectly calm
outwardly. As deferentially as though he were addressing a queen, he
bowed and said:

"Madame, pardon me, but be kind enough to consider our interview at an
end."

"What do you mean? You wish me to go?"

"Precisely, Madame. That is my wish."

"But you have not yet told me--ah! I see! I have made a mistake. But
you will pardon me, Mr. Barnes. I did not know. How could I? I judged
you by what I have heard of detectives. But you are different. I see
that now, and I ask your forgiveness. You will forget my stupid words,
will you?" She extended her hand cordially, and appeared truly
regretful. Mr. Barnes yielded to her persuasive influence, and sat
down again.

"Madame Medjora, I do not fully comprehend your motives in this
matter. That is why I hesitate to speak." Mr. Barnes paused a moment.
"Suppose you answer one or two questions. Will you?"

"Certainly! Ask me what you please."

"Very well, Madame! You married Dr. Medjora after his trial for
murder. At that time he had little money. Am I right, then, in
concluding that you married him because you loved him?"

"I loved him with my whole soul!"

"And now, do you love him as well now?" Mr. Barnes scrutinized her
closely, lest her words should belie her real feeling. But her answer
was sincere.

"I love him more now than I ever did. He is all the world to me!"

"Ah! I see!" Mr. Barnes communed with himself for a brief moment, then
suddenly asked: "You have had no children, I believe?" Madame grew
slightly paler, and answered in a low tone:

"None!"

"Just so! Now then, Madame, you of course recall the trial. It was
more than hinted at that time that the Doctor had a child by his first
wife. Did he ever tell you the truth about that?"

"Never!"

"Suppose that he had done so, and had confided to you the fact that
rumor was right, and that there was a child. Understand I am only
supposing a case! But if so, what would you have done?"

"I would have taken the little one, my husband's child, and I would
have cherished it for its father's sake!"

This was a deliberate lie, but Madame uttered the words in tones of
great sincerity. She was a very shrewd woman, and half-suspecting the
object of the detective's questioning, did not hesitate to tell this
falsehood