il I should call him. I heard the closing of the outer
door, and heard every step of Hinge's feet until he reached the bottom
of the stairs. Then the silence was so intense that I could hear
Brunow's watch quite distinctly as it ticked in his pocket, and my own
kept time to it.

"You have decided wisely," I said at last; "and when you have told me
the truth you shall have your chance." He was silent for so long a time
that I had to urge him. "I shall not wait forever."

"Well," he said, desperately, looking up at me for a mere instant, and
then, burying his face in his hands again, "tell me what you want to
know."

"I want," I told him, "to know the truth about the whole of this
miserable business. Who employed you here?"

"Employed me!" he responded.

"Who paid you for this act of treachery?"

"You know all you want to know, it seems, already," he answered,
sullenly, and at that I lost patience with him wholly.

"If I am not answered at once and without reserve," I said, "I will keep
my part of the bargain, and leave you to your chance. Who paid you?"

"You can do what you like," he answered, rising. "I'm not going to
betray a lady, anyhow."

"Thank you," I answered, with a more bitter disdain than I can easily
express in words. "If you choose to make your confession in that form,
it is as useful to me as it would be in any other. You were paid for
this by a lady. Who was she? You will find it agreeable to have a little
force exerted for the satisfaction of your own conscience, if that is
the name you give it. Who was the lady?"

"I don't know that I'm bound to risk my life for her," he answered.
"It's in her way of business, and she's paid for it."

"And who is she?" I demanded once again.

"The Baroness Bonnar," said Brunow.

CHAPTER XVI

To say that I was not astonished would be absurd; but the words had
scarcely been spoken a moment when I began to be aware that I was
wondering at my own amazement. On the whole, there was nobody whom I
knew and nobody at whose existence I could have guessed who was quite so
likely to be engaged in an affair of that nature as the Baroness Bonnar.

He fell back into his arm-chair with a certain air of defiance and
lit another cigar, as if by this time he were thoroughly determined to
brazen the whole thing out, and to justify himself to himself, even
if it were impossible to find a justification for any other. His cigar
slipped from his nerveless fingers; as