Brencherly shrugged his shoulders expressively. Gard sat far back in his
chair, his face in shadow.

"How long has it been, Mrs. Welles, since you--accomplished your
purpose?" he asked slowly.

"You know as well as I do," she cried angrily.

"You were there. It was yesterday--no, the day before."

"It was just a week ago we found her," Brencherly said in a low voice.
"I had to look up everything and verify everything."

"You don't think I did it?" she burst out angrily. "Well, I'll prove it.
I tell you I did, and I thought it all out carefully, although the
doctor says I can't think connectedly. I'll show him." She fumbled in
the breast of her dress for a moment, and brought out her cherished
handful of newspaper clippings, which she cast triumphantly upon the
table. "There's all about him from the papers, and a picture of the
house. Why, I'd 'a' been a fool not to find him, and I had to. Oh, yes,
I suppose, as the doctor says, I'm queer; but I wasn't when he first
began sending me away--no, indeed. I wasn't good enough for him, that
was all; and I was far from home, and hadn't a friend, and he had money.
Oh, he was clever--but he's the devil. He used to file his horns off so
people wouldn't see, but I know. So, I'll tell you everything, except
how I got away. There's somebody else I may want to find." She glanced
with infinite cunning at Brencherly, and began her finger signals as if
practicing a dumb alphabet of which he alone knew the key.