'
'Is your husband an Anarchist, or something of that kind, Miss
Spencer?'
'I don't know. I'd tell you in a minute if I knew. But he's one of
those that keep themselves to themselves.'
'Do you know if he has ever committed a murder? 'Never!' said
Miss Spencer, with righteous repudiation of the mere idea.
'But Mr Dimmock was murdered. He was poisoned. If he had not
been poisoned why was his body stolen? It must have been stolen
to prevent inquiry, to hide traces. Tell me about that.'
'I take my dying oath,' said Miss Spencer, standing up a little way
from the table, 'I take my dying oath I didn't know Mr Dimmock
was dead till I saw it in the newspaper.'
'You swear you had no suspicion of it?'
'I swear I hadn't.'
Nella was inclined to believe the statement. The woman and the
girl looked at each other in the tawdry, frowsy, lamp-lit room.
Miss Spencer nervously patted her yellow hair into shape, as if
gradually recovering her composure and equanimity. The whole
affair seemed like a dream to Nella, a disturbing, sinister
nightmare. She was a little uncertain what to say. She felt that she
had not yet got hold of any very definite information. 'Where is
Prince Eugen now?' she asked at length.
'I don't know, miss.'
'He isn't in this house?'
'No, miss.'
'Ah! We will see presently.'
'They took him away, Miss Racksole.'
'Who took him away? Some of your husband's friends?'
'Some of his - acquaintances.
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