hment as great as her
own. He did not tip over his coffee, but he did manage to upset his
chair, so that it fell backward on the floor; and then for the space of
a moment they stood staring into each other's eyes, both--from all
appearances--speechless with astonishment.

And then, very slowly, she subsided into her chair again, still keeping
her eyes upon him, and still evidently taxing her memory to the utmost
to recall all the incidents of that meeting at the prefecture in Paris.

"I remember now," she murmured at last, more to herself than to him. "It
all comes back to me, bit by bit. Monsieur Goron was chief at the
time--no? Yes. I remember. There had been a sudden death in the house
where I lived--it was on the floor just beneath me--and Goron sent for
me to question me about it. It was thought at first that Lucie had been
murdered, and Goron thought that perhaps I would know about it. He had
just finished questioning me when you entered the room--ah!"

Her eyes blazed with a sudden fire of anger, and her lips tightened over
her teeth.

"When you entered the room Goron rose and shook hands with you. Why did
he do that? Goron did not shake hands with criminals!"

"Nor with his police spies, did he?" asked Nick, smiling and shrugging
his shoulders.

"But why did he shake hands with you?"

"Because we were old acquaintances, madam."

"And he called you by name. What was that name?"

"Madam, for some time past I have deemed it best to forget it."

"Nevertheless you shall remember it now."

Nick shrugged his shoulders, and did not reply.

"What was that name?" she demanded again.

"I have told madam that I----"

She started from her chair, and ran across the room so suddenly that
Nick was interrupted in what he was about to say; and she seized a rope
that hung from the ceiling and stood with her hand upon it, grasping it.

"If I pull this rope," she said coldly, "as many of my followers as hear
it will rush to this place. You know what is likely to happen then if I
loose them upon you. They are all like wild beasts, or like dogs, ready
to tear each other at the slightest provocation. If I should point my
finger at you--so--and say to them, 'Take him; he is yours,' your life
would not be worth as much as the dregs in your coffee cup. Tell me,
what that name was, or I will summon the men."

The detective shrugged his shoulders, and leaned back in his chair,
smiling.

"It would be a foolish and a usel