But he obviously did not know that I was Remington.

How had he found out the two facts?
I guessed that the woman he believed to be his wife had revealed the secret of her earlier marriage on her death-bed, but the other was a problem which I could not solve.

Nor did I try to.

When I reached home I went mad.
The calmness, the self-repression of thirty years, vanished in an instant in the monstrous infamy of that disclosure.

There was something too horribly sinister in the character of a man who could be driven by ambition to make such a disclosure without regret, almost without hesitation.