the chauffeur was in league with
them--seemed to me to be Czechs or Hungarians----"

"Ah, I thought so," broke in the girl.

"And now may I ask why you did think so?"

"I may tell you later, perhaps. Please forgive me. I am quite
unnerved, and oh, so unhappy. Why have you come here?"

"That is due to one of those fantastic chances which occur
occasionally. In the effort to save Monsieur de Courtois, or rather to
seize his slayers, because I was too far away to interfere when the
blow was struck, I dropped the overcoat I was carrying. A crowd
gathered, and someone gave me a coat which I took as my own. It was
not until I had quitted the police and doctor, who arrived almost
immediately, and I had gone into Broadway to avoid the clamor in the
hotel, that I discovered I was wearing the dead man's overcoat, and in
one of the pockets I found a marriage license. Here it is. By that
means I learnt your address, and I came here quickly, hoping to save
you some of the agony which the appearance of a policeman or detective
would have caused. Unfortunately, I have proved but a sorry substitute
for an official messenger."

"Oh, no, no, Mr. Curtis. You have been most kind, most considerate.
If anyone is to blame, it is I."

"Will you pardon me, then, if I remind you that time is pressing? Even
a half-hour gained to-night by the authorities may be invaluable. If
you are able to supply any clew, the least hint of motive, the most
shadowy of guesses at a personality behind this beastly crime, you will
be rendering a great service."

"Please, please, give me time to think. I am not heartless--indeed I
am not. . . . If I could do anything to save Monsieur de Courtois'
life I would make the sacrifice--you will believe that, won't
you? . . . But he is dead, you say, and I might blurt out something in
my distress which would cause endless mischief. Perhaps I have thought
too much of my own troubles. Now I must begin to endure for the sake
of others. That is the woman's lot in life, I fear. . . . Have you a
wife or a sister, Mr. Curtis, or is there some woman whom you love?
For her sake, have pity on me, and do not drag me into the horrible
arena of courts and newspapers."

Her pleading, her attitude, her pathetic gestures, gave extraordinary
force to an appeal which, by contrast with her extreme agitation, was
almost grotesquely inconsequent. Curtis was at his wits' end to find
the line of reasoning calculated