blood, like other women; and I think I never saw such worship for a
man as she had for her husband. This will knock her right bang out."

These opinions made the detective melancholy; but he had not yet
begun to reflect on how the passing of a dearly loved husband would
change the life of Mrs. Pendean. He suddenly felt himself thrust out
of the situation forever, yet resented his own conviction as
irrational.

"What sort of a man was he?"

"A friendly fashion of chap--Cornish--a pacifist at heart I reckon;
but we never talked war politics."

"What was his age?"

"Couldn't tell you--doubtful--might have been anything between
twenty-five and thirty-five. A man with weak eyes and a brown beard.
He wore double eye-glasses for close work, but his long sight he
said was good."

After a meal Brendon went again to Mrs. Pendean; but many rumours
had reached her through the morning and she already knew most of
what he had to tell. A change had come over her; she was very silent
and very pale. Mark knew that she had grasped the truth and knew
that her husband must probably be dead.

She was, however, anxious to learn if Brendon could explain what
had happened.