Where was she to find the matches, for she had none of her own? She fumbled her way to the fireplace, but could find nothing she required. It seemed to her that she could hear somebody breathing in the room besides herself. But this she put down to the worn and disordered state of her nerves.
Ah, there were the matches at last. She could hear them rattling as they fell to the floor. She struck one, and the sudden flare half blinded her. Then she turned all the burners on, and the sudden glitter of it made her start. Really she was a good deal more ill and shaky than she had imagined.
Light at last. The blinds were up, but that did not matter. Leona turned and looked round the room. A man, seated in a chair, a dark and gloomy man with brooding eyes, rose and confronted her.
"A strange place to meet," he said, "but we have met at last."
Leona Lalage strove to speak, but the words froze on her lips. She was face to face with Garrett Charlton!
For the first time in her life Leona Lalage felt inclined to give up the struggle. Turn whichever way she would fate was ever against her. The shock of these constant surprises was fast breaking down her iron nerves.
She stood there face to face with the last man in the world she desired to see. Her breath came fast as if she had been running far, there was not a trace of colour on her cheeks. Charlton could see the black pupils dilating like those of a cat. The woman had been brought to bay.
If she could only get away! But Charlton stood between her and the door. He would recognize her now as his late wife's companion, but once her disguise was put aside would he recognize the Countess Lalage?
The shock was dying away. After all, what was the accusation? And yet Charlton was looking at her with the eyes of a man who has found out everything. They stood confronting one another for some time in silence. It was Charlton who first spoke. He came a step or two nearer.
"So we have met at last," he said. "Well, murderess?"
"That is a word that does no harm," Leona said. "What have I done?"
"What I have said. You murdered my wife as surely as if you had driven a knife into her breast. She found you out in my absence. And to shield yourself and come between husband and wife you forged an infamous letter. Oh, you well knew the emotional nature you had to deal with, you counted on it. That forgery had the desired effect, and my wife poisoned herself. You would have got that letter back, but I returned unexpectedly. I kept that letter which would have saved my good name, but I preferred to remain silent so that it might go to the world that my wife had found no suicide's grave. I have that letter."