“Yes—­he was there, Mr. Carroll. But he was already dead!”

CHAPTER XX

A CONFESSION

“—­Already dead!” Carroll did not know if his lips framed the words or if the walls of the room had echoed.  He was startled at a time when he fancied that there could be no further surprise in store for him.  He found himself eyeing the woman and he wondered that he gave credence to her statement.

Naomi was sitting straight, large black eyes dilated, hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly, lips slightly parted.  Even under the stress of the moment Carroll was actually conscious of her feminine allure; unable to free himself of her hypnotic personality.  She spoke—­but he scarcely heard her words through his chaos of thought.

“He was dead—­before I got into the taxi-cab.”

He saw that she was fighting to impress upon him the truth of her well-nigh unbelievable statement, that every atom of her brain strove desperately to convince him.  And then she relaxed suddenly, as though from too great strain, and a shudder passed over her.

“I knew—­I knew—­”

“You knew what, Mrs. Lawrence?”

“I knew that you would not believe me.  Oh! it’s true—­this story I am telling you.  But I knew no one could believe it—­it stretches one’s credulity too far.  That is why I have kept silent through all these days which have passed—­that and a desire to save Evelyn and my husband.”

“You love your husband?” Carroll bit his lips.  The question had slipped out before he realized that he had formed the words.  But she did not evade the issue—­

“I despise him, Mr. Carroll.  But he has played square with me—­more so than I have with him.  And publication of this would hurt him—­”

“Because he cares for you?”

“No.  But because he is proud:  because he is jealous of his personal possessions—­of which I am one.”

“I see—­And Mr. Warren—?”

She spread her hands in a helpless, hopeless gesture.  “What’s the use, Mr. Carroll?  Why, should I wrack myself with the story when you do not even believe the reason upon which it is based?  If you only believed me when I tell you that when I got into the taxicab Roland had already been killed—­”

“I do believe that,” returned Carroll gently.

She inbreathed sharply, then her eyes narrowed a trifle.  “Do you mean that—­or is it bait to make me talk?”

“I can not do more than repeat my statement.  I believe what you have told me.”

She held his eyes for a moment, then slowly hers shrank from the contact.  “You are telling me the truth,” she ventured.

“And if you will tell me the whole story, Mrs. Lawrence—­I shall see what I can do for you.”

“What is there to do for me?  There is no way to keep my name from it—­my name and the story of the mistake which I made—­was willing to make.”