Gunman's Bluff by Edgar Wallace

That morning had been one of great mental distress to Margaret Leferre. Three times she had taken up the telephone to call Luke; three times she had put down the instrument. And then Mr. Danty Morell had called. Almost she did not receive him. She was in that state of mind when his appearance gave an ugliness to reality of which she would rather have remained unconscious.

Daybreak had come to her after a night of dreams; horrid dreams of the dead Rex, of Luke, of lawyers gabbling through the esoteric terms of a marriage deed. And out of all these disturbing dreams one fact had emerged: she hated Luke -- hated him with an intensity that overbalanced all reason. She tried to recall the time when he had meant everything in the world to her, when her pulse quickened at the sound of his voice and the day seemed a little brighter for his presence. Desperately, and for the sake of her own dwindling self-respect, she endeavoured to recapture those hours when he was as a very god to her. She tried to find excuses for him, and in doing so she was unconsciously fanning the flame of her resentment. She had grown to hate herself for the tremendous treachery she contemplated. It made matters no easier that she found herself committed to a conspiracy with a man who a few months before had been a stranger.