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She was a very undesirable type, to his mind, but he remembered that Maddy had resented his criticism of her. Her name was Gibbs, and from her he received a short, even curt note, that she extended her sympathy, and trusted that when the time came for him to settle up his wife’s estate, he would remember that she was among the creditors.

“I suppose poor Maddy owed her a few dollars at Bridge,” he thought. “I wish I had made more inquiries as to the poor child’s finances. I thought I gave her enough.”

And then, with one of those strange perversities of which human nature is capable, he felt a sudden wave of relief that she was gone.

He was shocked, horrified, ashamed of—this—but there were times when it came over him that he had achieved freedom—by a fearful means, truly—but freedom.

He hadn’t time to analyze this thought, but he had time to be ashamed of it, and it was with real dismay that he took himself to task for such an impulse, and hastily set about doing all he could to make amends by offering honor to her memory.

But if Mrs. Gardner was unwilling to see or talk to Andrew Barham regarding his dead wife, she was not allowed to hesitate when the detective from the Police Bureau called upon her.

She promptly refused to see him, which refusal was as promptly set aside and she was advised to make an appearance.

“What is it you want with me?” she asked in a supercilious way as she swept into the drawing room and confronted Hutchins with a reproving stare.

“I must ask you some questions, madam, and it is