moment his hand had gone to his lips. For if his fanatical anti-anarchism went even as far as carrying poison in his pocket, only to rob his adversaries of legitimate vengeance, I knew he would take care to provide something that would not fail him when required. </p> <p> &ldquo;She drew an angry breath. There were red spots on her cheeks and a feverish brilliance in her eyes. </p> <p> &ldquo;&lsquo;Has ever any one been exposed to such a terrible experience? To think that he had held my hand! That man!&rsquo; Her face twitched, she gulped down a pathetic sob. &lsquo;If I ever felt sure of anything, it was of Sevrin&rsquo;s high-minded motives.&rsquo; </p> <p> &ldquo;Then she began to weep quietly, which was good for her. Then through her flood of tears, half resentful, &lsquo;What was it he said to me?&mdash;&ldquo;From conviction!&rdquo; It seemed a vile mockery. What could he mean by it?&rsquo; </p> <p> &ldquo;&lsquo;That, my dear young lady,&rsquo; I said, gently, &lsquo;is more than I or anybody else can ever explain to you.&rsquo;&rdquo; </p> <p> Mr. X flicked a crumb off the front of his coat. </p> <p> &ldquo;And that was strictly true as to her. Though Horne, for instance, understood very well; and so did I, especially after we had been to Sevrin&rsquo;s lodging in a dismal back street of an intensely respectable quarter. Horne was known there as a friend, and we had no difficulty in being admitted, the slatternly maid merely remarking, as she let us in, that &lsquo;Mr Sevrin had not been home that night.&rsquo; We forced open a couple of drawers in the way of duty, and found a little useful information. The most interesting part was his diary; for this man, engaged in such deadly work, had the weakness to keep a record of the most damnatory kind. There were his acts and also his thoughts laid bare to us. But the dead don&rsquo;t mind that. They don&rsquo;t mind anything. </p> <p> &ldquo;&lsquo;From conviction.&rsquo; Yes. A vague but ardent humanitarianism had urged him in his first youth into the bitterest extremity of negation and revolt. Afterwards his optimism flinched. He doubted and became lost. You have heard of converted atheists. These turn often into dangerous fanatics, but the soul remains the same. After he had got acquainted with the girl, there are to be met in that diary of his very queer politico-amorous rhapsodies. He took her sovereign grimaces with deadly seriousness. He longed to convert her. But all this cannot interest you. For the rest, I don&rsquo;t know if you remember&mdash;it is a good many years ago now&mdash;the journalistic sensation of the &lsquo;Hermione Street Mystery&rsquo;; the finding of a