“Stay!” I almost shouted, springing up, and the suddenness of my excitement intimidated her. “How do you know that Lord Clarenceux is dead?”

I stood before her, trembling with apprehension for the effect of the disclosure I was about to make. She was puzzled and alarmed by the violent change in me, but she controlled herself.

“How do I know?” she repeated with strange mildness.

“Yes, how do you know? Did you see him die?”

I had a wild desire to glance over my shoulder at the portrait.

“No, my friend. But I saw him after he was dead. He died suddenly in Vienna. Don’t let us talk about that.”