ne of complaint. "Surely you do not intend to desert me in these
hours of distress?"

"I must apologise," I responded quickly, remembering Jevons' advice.
"But the fact is I myself have been very upset over the sad affair,
and, in addition, I've had several serious cases during the past few
days. Sir Bernard has been unwell, and I've been compelled to look
after his practice."

"Sir Bernard!" she ejaculated, in a tone which instantly struck me as
strange. It was as though she held him in abhorrence. "Do you know,
Ralph, I hate to think of you in association with that man."

"Why?" I asked, much surprised, while at that same moment the thought
flashed through my mind how often Sir Bernard had given me vague
warnings regarding her.

They were evidently bitter enemies.

"I have no intention to give my reasons," she replied, her brows
slightly knit. "I merely give it as my opinion that you should no
longer remain in association with him."

"But surely you are alone in that opinion!" I said. "He bears a high
character, and is certainly one of the first physicians in London. His
practice is perhaps the most valuable of any medical man at the
present moment."

"I don't deny that," she said, her gloved fingers twitching nervously.
"A man may be a king, and at the same time a knave."

I smiled. It was apparent that her intention was to separate me from
the man to whom I owed nearly all, if not quite all, my success. And
why? Because he knew of her past, and she feared that he might, in a
moment of confidence, betray all to me.

"Vague hints are always irritating," I remarked. "Cannot you give me
some reason for your desire that my friendship with him should end?"

"No. If I did, you would accuse me of selfish motives," she said,
fixing her dark eyes upon me.

Could a woman with a Madonna-like countenance be actually guilty of
murder? It seemed incredible. And yet her manner was that of a woman
haunted by the terrible secret of her crime. At that moment she was
seeking, by ingenious means, to conceal the truth regarding the past.
She feared that my intimate friendship with the great physician might
result in her unmasking.

"I can't see that selfish motives enter into this affair at all," I
remarked. "Whatever you tell me, Ethelwynn, is, I know, for my own
benefit. Therefore you should at least be explicit."

"I can't be more explicit."

"Why not?"

"Because I have no right to utter a libel without being absol