"Just so; the one who said she had seen no one come into No. 3 on the
first floor."

Mr. Ransom's expression of surprised inquiry was sufficient answer.

"Well, it's a pity you didn't look at her gloves instead of at her face.
You might have had some dim idea of having seen them before. It was she
who rode to the hotel with you; not your wife. The veil was wound around
her face for a far deeper purpose than to ward off rice."

Mr. Ransom staggered back against the table before which he had been
standing. The blow was an overwhelming one.

"Who is this woman?" he demanded. "She came from Mr. Fulton's house. More
than that, from my wife's room. What is her name and what did she mean by
such an outrage?"

"Her name is Bella Burton, and she is your wife's confidential maid. As
for the meaning of this outrage, it will take more than two hours to
ferret out that. I can only give you the single fact I've mentioned."

"And Mrs. Ransom?"

"She left the house at the same moment you did; you and Miss Burton. Only
she went by the basement door."

"She? _She?_"

"Dressed in her maid's clothes. Oh, you'll have to hear worse things than