and in their way. It is written,
understand what I say, it is written in Marie's own hand; 'Have patience,
my own Gaston. My courage increases day by day. So much the worse for him
who stands between us. He shall disappear.'

"My dear friend, if I succumb in the struggle you will find those letters
(and all the evidence which I have collected against the wretched
creature) in the safe hidden behind the small glass case: Then revenge
me. Au revoir. Perhaps good-bye."

Thus ran the third missive. Hippolyte Fauville from his grave named and
accused his guilty wife. From his grave he supplied the solution to the
riddle and explained the reason why the crimes had been committed: Marie
Fauville and Gaston Sauverand were lovers.

Certainly they knew of the existence of Cosmo Mornington's will, for they
had begun by doing away with Cosmo Mornington; and their eagerness to
come into the enormous fortune had hastened the catastrophe. But the
first idea of the murder rose from an older and deep-rooted passion:
Marie Fauville and Gaston Sauverand were lovers.

One problem remained to be solved: who was the unknown correspondent to
whom Hippolyte Fauville had bequeathed the task of avenging his murder,
and who, instead of simply handing over the letters to the police, was
exercising his ingenuity to deliver them by means of the most
Machiavellian contrivances? Was it to his interest also to remain in the
background?

To all these questions Marie Fauville replied in the most unexpected
manner, though it was one that fully accorded with her threats. A week
later, after a long cross-examination at which she was pressed for the
name of her husband's old friend and at which she maintained the most
stubborn silence, together with a sort of stupid inertia, she returned to
her cell in the evening and opened the veins of her wrist with a piece of
glass which she had managed to hide.

Don Luis heard the news from Mazeroux, who came to tell him of it
before eight o'clock the next morning, just as he was getting out of
bed. The sergeant had a travelling bag in his hand and was on his way
to catch a train.

Don Luis was greatly upset.

"Is she dead?" he exclaimed.

"No. It seems that she has had one more let-off. But what's the good?"

"How do you mean, what's the good?"

"She'll do it again, of course. She's set her mind upon it. And, one day
or another--"

"Did she volunteer no confession, this time either, before making the
at