ered by physical weariness.

"You say Mr. Beard will not be here to-night?" she spoke, and her voice
disclosed the fear that had suddenly gripped her heart.

"No," answered Britz.

"Then it is useless for me to wait." She moved toward the door but the
detective interposed.

"I shall detain you only a few minutes," he said; "but having found you
here it is necessary that I should ascertain your identity and the
reason for this late visit."

A shock passed through her, as though he had offered her an indignity.

"I must go," she declared. "You have no right to detain me or to
question me."

"Would you prefer being questioned at Police Headquarters?" he inquired.

The implied threat had an immediate effect on her. She recoiled as from
a blow and moved slowly into the sitting-room. The detective followed
her, after directing the servant not to leave the house.

"Madam, what is your name?" he demanded brusquely.

It was not Britz's habit to be gruff with women. By nature courteous,
considerate of the weaker sex, he nevertheless realized that soft
phrases will not prop a witness who, through sheer desperation of will,
has been staving off physical collapse. On the contrary, harshness in
the inquisitor, by arousing antagonism or fear, will frequently serve to
carry the witness through a most desperate ordeal. In this case,
however, the woman showed neither fear nor resentment. Evidently she had
suffered so much as to have exhausted her capability for further
suffering. She submitted to the other's will like a tired child,
dropping into a chair and eyeing him with a vacuous expression.

"I am Mrs. George Collins," she answered his question in a weak,
listless voice.

Britz's gaze narrowed on her as if questioning her statement. But the
very haggardness of her features accentuated her incapacity for deceit.
Gradually the detective's eyes cleared with belief and his calloused
nature yielded to an impulse of pity.

"I did not expect to find you here, Mrs. Collins," he said more gently.
"I can understand your suffering--I do not wish to add a hair's weight
to it. But the conclusion is inevitable that your visit at such a late
hour has something to do with Mr. Whitmore's death, so I must ask you to
explain your presence."

She leaned back in her chair, a look of meek resignation in her face.

"I came to obtain a letter addressed to Mr. Whitmore," she said frankly.

"A letter which you wrote?"

"No."

"By whom