"But yes. Of course. She was alone. She could not lift him."

"I see," Sperry said thoughtfully. "No, I daresay she couldn't.
Was the revolver on the floor also?"

"Yes, doctor. I myself picked it up."

To Sperry she showed, I observed, a slight deference, but when she
glanced at me, as she did after each reply, I thought her expression
slightly altered. At the time this puzzled me, but it was explained
when Sperry started down the stairs.

"Monsieur is of the police?" she asked, with a Frenchwoman's timid
respect for the constabulary.

I hesitated before I answered. I am a truthful man, and I hate
unnecessary lying. But I ask consideration of the circumstances.
Neither then nor at any time later was the solving of the Wells
mystery the prime motive behind the course I laid out and
consistently followed. I felt that we might be on the verge of some
great psychic discovery, one which would revolutionize human thought
and to a certain extent human action. And toward that end I was
prepared to go to almost any length.

"I am making a few investigations," I told her. "You say Mrs. Wells
was alone in the house, except for her husband?"

"The children."