"You're wrong, stranger--wrong on both counts!" the woman replied. She had steadied herself, was forcing her voice to hold an even tone. Seymour could not yet be sure that his hunch was right.
"Mr. Seymour was a staff-sergeant," she went on. "The coward that murdered him will learn that to his sorrow when Russell's mates come from headquarters to avenge his death. As for my being his widow----" She essayed a little laugh that was almost too much a strain upon her histrionic powers. "I'm not saying what might have come to pass had not death stepped in; but as it stands, he was just a brave friend and a good-paying boarder."
A moment the sergeant merely stared at her; then he leaned along the counter toward her. "You'd like to see your brave friend's slayer punished, wouldn't you?"
A flash of fury lit her worn face; her teeth clicked ominously and her small, work-roughened hands clinched.
"I'd give the world if it were mine and count it well spent!" she cried. "If ever I find out who--" She checked herself, evidently fearing that she was going too far in behalf of a "brave friend and a good-paying boarder."
"Then tell me all you can about Bart, his recent movements and what he had planned for the future," urged Seymour quietly. "I'm here to get the man who killed him, Mrs. Caswell."
Probably it was more his repetition of that "Mrs. Caswell" than his declaration of purpose that suddenly unnerved her. It was such convincing indication that her denials had not been believed. She sank into a chair that stood by the front window and buried her face in her hands. She looked so hopeless that Seymour's heart was wrung with pity for her. His hunch had been right, but there was no need now to press it unfeelingly. She should have all the time she needed for sobbing readjustment.
"How come you to think you know so much about him--about us?" she asked presently without looking up.
"I know, ma'am. I am the real Russell Seymour--the sergeant whose uniform he wore."
His mask was off. He had been more frank than at first he intended to be, but, in all circumstances, he considered the temporary secret of his identity safe with her.
Bart's widow started up in her chair. "Here so soon!" she exclaimed.