as here to
open the door? Poor Mr. Page! Poor man! How terrible it is!"

She was a little awed, and seemed glad when at last I stood confronting
her.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, she made room on
the settle for me to sit beside her. I did so, awkwardly enough. There
was not the slightest trace of coquetry in her conduct, she was entirely
free from the least indication of affectation, and I could not do
otherwise than meet her in the same spirit, although I apprehended some
difficult moments before our colloquy should be finished. Her errand
must indeed be urgent that she should alone brave this house of death.

After a minute of hesitation on her part, during which she sat with
downcast eyes while I took a base advantage of the opportunity to drink
in her loveliness, she abruptly faced me. Her countenance reflected an
expression of determination, tempered by the wistfulness of uncertainty
and doubt.

"Mr. Swift," she began, in a straightforward manner, "it was simply
impossible for me not to have sought you out--if not here, then at the
police station, or wherever it is you make your headquarters."

I remarked that a message would have brought me speedily to her.

"Oh, no!" in quick protestation. "There is no place where we could have
been private--to-day. And, besides, I would n't have put you to so much
trouble."

"Trouble!" I interrupted. "I would have been only too glad."

She smiled at my warmth, proceeding:

"Anyhow, I succeeded in finding you alone; now tell me--truly--am I
bothering you?"

"Truly, you are not bothering me in the least. I can fancy nothing nicer
than sitting just like this and talking--with you. It's so--so--"

"Comfy?"--archly.

"Exactly. But that's a woman's word; I never would have thought of it."

The handsome eyes flashed a look at me which made me hastily revise my
opinion that she was entirely free from any trace of coquetry.

"I did n't come here to listen to nice things," she said, smiling into my
eyes; "I 'm awfully serious."

And, in very truth, she straightway grew grave. She drew a long breath,
and sat suddenly more upright, questioning me with a look. Such fine,
honest eyes!

Her first spoken interrogation was direct enough, in all conscience;
while I was expecting some such inquisition, I was by no means prepared
with an immediate answer.

"I want to know, Mr. Swift,--is it going to appear that Royal Maillot
murdered