now that I am prepared to answer your questions," she said more
calmly, "but there is no reason why you should not ask them."

Here was an attitude wholly unexpected. And Odette Rider panic-stricken
he could understand. If she had burst into a fit of weeping, if she
had grown incoherent in her terror, if she had been indignant or
shame-faced--any of these displays would have fitted in with his
conception of her innocence or apprehension of her guilt.

"In the first place," he asked bluntly, "why are you here under the name
of Miss Stevens?"

She thought a moment, then shook her head.

"That is a question I am not prepared to answer," she said quietly.

"I won't press it for a moment," said Tarling, "because I realise that it
is bound up in certain other extraordinary actions of yours, Miss Rider."

The girl flushed and dropped her eyes, and Tarling went on:

"Why did you leave London secretly, without giving your friends or your
mother any inkling of your plans?"

She looked up sharply.

"Have you seen mother?" she asked quietly, and again her eyes were
troubled.

"I've seen your mother," said Tarling. "I have also seen the telegram you
sent to her. Come, Miss Rider, won't you let me help you? Believe me, a
great deal more depends upon your answers than the satisfaction of my
curiosity. You must realise how very serious your position is."

He saw her lips close tightly and she shook her head.

"I have nothing to say," she said with a catch of her breath. "If--if you
think I have----"

She stopped dead.

"Finish your sentence," said Tarling sternly. "If I think you have
committed this crime?"

She nodded.

He put away his notebook before he spoke again, and, leaning over the
bed, took her hand.

"Miss Rider, I want to help you," he said earnestly, "and I can help you
best if you're frank with me. I tell you I do not believe that you
committed this act. I tell you now that though all the circumstances
point to your guilt, I have absolute confidence that you can produce an
answer to the charge."

For a moment her eyes filled with tears, but she bit her lip and smiled
bravely into his face.

"That is good and sweet of you, Mr. Tarling, and I do appreciate your
kindness. But I can't tell you anything--I can't, I can't!" She gripped
his wrist in her vehemence, and he thought she was going to break down,
but again, with an extraordinary effort of will which excited his secret
admiration, she controlled