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Rh "I admire your whole-hearted, blood-thirsty instincts, Miss Beddingfeld. But we will leave him to recover at his leisure. He is not seriously hurt."

"You shrink from a second murder, I see," I said sweetly.

"A second murder?"

He looked genuinely puzzled.

"The woman at Marlow," I reminded him, watching the effect of my words closely.

An ugly brooding expression settled down on his face. He seemed to have forgotten my presence.

"I might have killed her," he said. "Sometimes I believe that I meant to kill her.…"

A wild rush of feeling, hatred of the dead woman, surged through me. I could have killed her that moment, had she stood before me.… For he must have loved her once—he must—he must—to have felt like that!

I regained control of myself and spoke in my normal voice:

"We seem to have said all there is to be said—except good night."

"Good night and good-bye, Miss Beddingfeld."

"Au revoir, Mr. Lucas."

Again he flinched at the name. He came nearer.

"Why do you say that—au revoir, I mean?"

"Because I have a fancy that we shall meet again."

"Not if I can help it!"

Emphatic as his tone was, it did not offend me. On the contrary I hugged myself with secret satisfaction. I am not quite a fool.

"All the same," I said gravely, "I think we shall."

"Why?"

I shook my head, unable to explain the feeling that had actuated my words.