She had attempted to thank him before, when she first recovered her senses and realized her position, but he had sensitively deprecated that. On that same day she had told him her name, told him that she was French, that in England she was friendless, and that of what little she possessed she had been robbed by the man whom he had seen attack her--a man whom she had never seen before; and this was all that he knew about her. He wanted to know more, but he sat before her wondering how to phrase his questions. In spite of his curiosity he would have deferred them had it been possible, but it was not possible; and he broke the silence timidly, for as he spoke she looked at him full in the face with her dark eyes. "Miss Boucheafen, if you are strong enough to allow of it--" "As I said, sir, I am well." "I must, with your permission, ask you a few questions." He hesitated, almost confused under her steady gaze. "I am presuming that you would rather reply to me than be questioned by a police-officer?" "I do prefer it, sir." "Then," said the Doctor, "this man who so murderously attacked you--you can tell nothing about him?" "Nothing, sir--I know nothing." "Absolutely nothing?" "Absolutely!" "You do not know his motive?" "Ah, sir--you forget! He robbed me." "True, true!" the Doctor returned, a slight flush tinting his cheeks, for he fancied that he detected a mocking gleam in her eyes, a suspicion of a smile curving her lips. "True--I had forgotten. Pray pardon me," he said, "but the attack was so violent, the blow so savage, the weapon must have been so keen, that it is almost impossible to connect it with a mere attempt to commit a paltry robbery. I thought, and the police thought, that it was a case of intended murder." "Ah, sir, they are clever, your police, but they sometimes make mistakes! Is it not so?" Doctor Brudenell's face flushed crimson. Was she laughing at him? It looked like it. He was taken aback, discomfited. He did not know how to go on, but she gave him no chance, for she spoke herself, emphasizing her words by rapid gestures and much energetic waving of her white hands. "Listen, then, sir. This is all I know--that this man followed me--why, I have no idea--that he came upon me suddenly in the solitary street and asked me for money; that, when I refused it, he tore my purse away; that, as I seized his arm and screamed, he wrenched it free, and struck me with what you tell me was a dagger. I know no more but what you tell me--nothing." George Brudenell, listening and looking, believed after all his own fancy was but a fancy. The theory of the sergeant and the inspector was only a theory, a mere empty possibility, unsupported by fact. He abandoned both ideas forthwith. "Miss Boucheafen, could you recognize this man?" "I think not--I am sure not." She shook her head, her eyes fixed musingly upon the fire. "It was dark. No--I could not recognize him." "Nor could I, unfortunately." "And yet you saw him?"