The Comte looked at her curiously.

“You know who killed Madame Kettering? Is that what you would say, Mademoiselle?”

Mirelle nodded vehemently.

“Yes.”

“Who was it?” asked the Comte sharply.

“Her husband.” She leant across to the Comte, speaking in a low voice that vibrated with anger and excitement. “It was her husband who killed her.”

The Comte leaned back in his chair. His face was a mask.

“Let me ask you, Mademoiselle⁠—how do you know this?”