"Certainly!" said Harleston.

"Then I'll give you what I heard. It's not much, and it may be false;
it's for you to judge, in the light of all that you know concerning her,
whether or not it affects her credibility. Mrs. Clephane went with a
notoriously fast set in Paris, and her reputation was somewhat cloudy."

"I know of that," returned Harleston, "also that Clephane was a roué,
and generally an exceedingly rotten lot."

"Precisely--and her conduct as to him may be quite justifiable; yet
nevertheless it weakens her credibility; puts her story as to the letter
under suspicion. And there is one thing more: Clephane, you know, was
killed in an aeroplane smash. Did Mrs. Clephane tell you anything as to
it?"

"Merely referred to it."

"Well, at a dinner the night before, he effervesced that his wife had
repeatedly tried to poison him, and had told him only that evening that
she hoped the flight of the morrow would be his last, and that he would
fall so far it would be useless to dig for his remains. At the aviation
field the following day he appeared queer, and his friends urged him not
to try the flight; but he waved them aside, with the remark that maybe
Mrs. Clephane had drugged him and at last would win out. His fall came
a trifle later. Suspicion followed, of course."

"How do you know all this?" Harleston asked.