ineffectual to express her feelings. 'Murdered!' she said sternly,
behind her handkerchief.

'Why? And by whom?' Mr. Troy asked.

Mrs. Ferrari seemed to have some difficulty in answering.
'You have read my husband's letters, sir,' she began. 'I believe
he discovered--' She got as far as that, and there she stopped.

'What did he discover?'

There are limits to human patience--even the patience of a bereaved wife.
This cool question irritated Mrs. Ferrari into expressing herself
plainly at last.

'He discovered Lady Montbarry and the Baron!' she answered,
with a burst of hysterical vehemence. 'The Baron is no more
that vile woman's brother than I am. The wickedness of those two
wretches came to my poor dear husband's knowledge. The lady's maid
left her place on account of it. If Ferrari had gone away too,
he would have been alive at this moment. They have killed him.
I say they have killed him, to prevent it from getting to Lord
Montbarry's ears.' So, in short sharp sentences, and in louder
and louder accents, Mrs. Ferrari stated her opinion of the case.

Still keeping his own view in reserve, Mr. Troy listened
with an expression of satirical approval.

'Very strongly stated, Mrs. Ferrari,' he said. 'You build up your
sentences well; you clinch your conclusions in a workmanlike manner.