was sure of that. You remember how La Tosca killed Scarpia?
You remember how she felt? I felt so--just like that. I never
hesitated. I knew what I wanted to do, and I did it."

"How did you kill him?" Jasmine asked in that matter-of-fact way which
comes at those times when the senses are numbed by tragedy.

"You remember the needle--Mr. Mappin's needle? I knew Adrian had it. He
showed it to me. He could not keep the secret. He was too weak. The
needle was in his pocket-book--to kill me with some day perhaps. He
certainly had not the courage to kill himself.... I went to see him. He
was dressing. The pocket-book lay on the table. As I said, he had
showed it to me. While he was busy I abstracted the needle. He talked
of his journey abroad. He lied--nothing but lies, about himself, about
everything. When he had said enough,--lying was easier to him than
anything else--I told him the truth. Then he went wild. He caught hold
of me as if to strangle me.... He did not realize the needlepoint when
it caught him. If he did, it must have seemed to him only the prick of
a pin.... But in a few minutes it was all over. He died quite
peacefully. But it was not very easy getting him on the sofa. He looked
sleeping as he lay there. You saw. He would never lie any more to
women, to you or to me or any other. It is a good thing to stop a
plague, and the simplest way is the best. He was handsome, and his
music was very deceiving. It was almost good of its kind, and it was
part of him. When I look back I find only misery. Two wicked men hurt
me. They spoiled my life, first one and then another; and I went from
bad to worse. At least he"--she pointed to the other room--"he had some
courage at the very last. He fought, he braved death. The other--you
remember the Glencader Mine. Your husband and Ian Stafford went down,
and Lord Tynemouth was ready to go, but Adrian would not go. Then it
was I began to hate him. That was the beginning. What happened had to
be. I was to kill him; and I did. It avenged me, and it avenged your
husband. I was glad of that, for Rudyard Byng had done so much for me:
not alone that he saved me at the opera, you remember, but other good
things. I did his work for him with Adrian."

"Have you no fear--of me?" Jasmine asked.

"Fear of--you? Why?"

"I might hate you--I might tell."

Al'mah made a swift gesture of protest. "Do not say foolish things. You
would rather die than tell. You should be grateful to me. So