I am glad, indeed, to meet you, but--but
tell me why he has disappeared--what has occurred?"

"I thought you would probably know that my friend is wanted by the
police," I replied gravely. "His description has been circulated
everywhere."

"But why?" she gasped, staring at me. "Why are the police in search of
him?"

For a few seconds I hesitated, disinclined to repeat the grave charge
against him.

"Well," I said at last in a low, earnest voice, "the fact is the police
have discovered that Sir Digby Kemsley died in South America some months
ago."

"I don't follow you," she said.

"Then I will be more plain. The police, having had a report of the death
of Sir Digby, believe our mutual friend to be an impostor!"

"An impostor! How utterly ridiculous. Why, I myself can prove his
identity. The dead man must have been some adventurer who used his name."

"That is a point which I hope with your assistance to prove," I said.
"The police at present regard our friend with distinct suspicion."

"And I suppose his worst enemy has made some serious allegation against
him--that woman who hates him so. Ah! I see it all now. I see why he has
written this to me--this confession which astounds me. Ah! Mr. Royle,"
she added, her gloved hands tightly clenched in her despair. "You do not
know in what deadly peril Sir Digby now is. Yes, I see it plainly. There
is a charge against him--a grave and terrible charge--which he is unable
to refute, and yet he is perfectly innocent. Oh, what can I do? How can I
act to save him?" and her voice became broken by emotion.

"First tell me the name of this woman who was such a deadly enemy of his.
If you reveal this to me, I may be able to throw some light upon
circumstances which are at the present moment a complete mystery."

"No, that is his secret," was her low, calm reply. "He made me swear
never to reveal the woman's name."

"But his honour--nay, his liberty--is now at stake," I urged.

"That does not exonerate me from breaking my word of honour, Mr. Royle."

"Then he probably entertains affection for the woman, and is hence loth
to do anything which might cause her pain. Strangely enough, men often
love women whom they know are their bitterest enemies."

"Quite so. But the present case is full of strange and romantic
facts--facts, which if written down, would never be believed. I know many
of them myself, and can vouch for them."

"Well, is this unnamed woman a very vengeful pe