a fool or a bad actress," said Poltavo.

"What do you mean?" asked the other quickly.

Poltavo shrugged his shoulders.

"To my mind," he said after a moment's thought, "there is no doubt that
I have witnessed a very clever comedy. An effective one, I grant,
because it has accomplished all that was intended."

"And what was intended?" asked Mr. Brown curiously.

"It was intended by you and carried out by you in order to convey to me
the exact character of your business," said Poltavo. "I judged that fact
from the following evidence." He ticked off the points one by one on his
long white fingers. "The lady's name was, according to the envelope, let
us say, Lady Cruxbury; but the lady's real name, according to some
silver initials on her bag, began with 'G.' Those initials I also noted
on the little handkerchief she took from her bag. Therefore she was not
the person to whom the letter was addressed, or if she was, the letter
was a blind. In such an important matter Lady Cruxbury would come
herself. My own view is that there is no Lady Cruxbury, that the whole
letter was concocted and was delivered to me whilst you were watching me
from some hiding place in order to test my discretion, and, as I say, to
make me wise in the ways of your admirable journal."

Mr. Brown laughed long and softly.

"You are a clever fellow, Poltavo," he said admiringly, "and you
certainly deserve your rise of salary. Now I am going to be frank with
you. I admit that the whole thing was a blind. You now know my business,
and you now know my _raison d'etre_, so to speak. Are you willing to
continue?"

"At a price," said the other.

"Name it," said the veiled man quietly.

"I am a poor adventurer," began Poltavo; "my life----"

"Cut all that stuff out," said Mr. Brown roughly, "I am not going to
give you a fortune. I am going to give you the necessities of life and a
little comfort."

Poltavo walked to the window and thrusting his hands deep into his
trouser pockets stared out. Presently he turned. "The necessities of
life to me," he said, "are represented by a flat in St. James's Street,
a car, a box at the Opera----"

"You will get none of these," interrupted Mr. Brown. "Be reasonable."

Poltavo smiled.

"I am worth a fortune to you," he said, "because I have imagination.
Here, for example." He picked out a letter from a heap on the desk and
opened it. The caligraphy was typically Latin and the handwriting was
vile. "Here is a l