I knew my face must be mirroring the expression on hers. Horror. Loss. Grief. And there was something more in her eyes, a sense of guilt, as if somehow she should have prevented his death. I sat there, stunned, and after a moment, she nodded, as if she understood what I was feeling.

I managed to say the proper things even as my mind struggled to accept what had happened. It was inevitable, given how much he loved his wife. What else was there to live for, without her, without a face or hands that resembled human features and fingers? And yet it was sad beyond words.

Why hadn't Inspector Herbert told me? But then he couldn't have known I was coming here. Still-

A brief silence fell. Then I asked the difficult question. "Who told him that his wife was dead?"

"His sister came down. It had to be done, of course. We couldn't have kept it from him. He'd been asking for her, you see. But we thought-he seemed to take the news as well as could be expected. He just stared at the wall and said nothing. He was very quiet for the next week, although he asked on two occasions if the police had made any progress in their search for her killer. Afterward, we realized he was simply biding his time. We kept an eye on him, well aware of how much-how important she was to his recovery. As soon as he'd arrived at Laurel House, he'd asked one of the staff to write to his wife, to tell her that he was back in England and how much he looked forward to seeing her. When she didn't come, he wrote to his sister asking if Mrs. Evanson were ill. His sister had hoped to spare him the news until he was stronger, but that was not to be. Mrs. Melton had no choice but to tell her brother the truth."