This was unexpected tribute. The only thing he could think up to say was, "I'm him," and then, apologetically: "--unless some one's been usin' my name without authority." "Are you actually the great Anderson Crow? Do you know, I have always thought of you as a fictitious character--like _Sherlock Holmes_. Are you really _real_? Do I look upon you in the flesh?" Mr. Crow was momentarily overwhelmed. "Oh, I--I guess I'm not much different from other men, ma'am. I'm not half as important as folks make me out to be." "How nice and modest you are! That is the true sign of greatness, Mr. Crow. I might have known that you would be simple." "Simple?" murmured Anderson, to whom the word had but one meaning. He thought of Willie Jones, the village idiot. "'Simplicity, thou art a jewel,'" observed the Veiled Lady. "Will you pardon a somewhat leading question, Mr. Crow?" "Lead on," said he, still a trifle uncertain of himself. "Who is that man standing against the tree beside you? Is he a friend of yours?" "Who is--is my what?" "Your companion. Now he has moved over behind the tree." Anderson shot a startled look over his shoulder. "There ain't any man behind the tree. I'm all alone." "Are you trying to make sport of me, Mr. Crow?" "I should say not. I been standin' here fer some time, an' I guess I'd know if anybody was--" "Do you think I am blind?" demanded the lady quite sharply. "Not if you c'n see a man behind this tree," said he, with conviction. "You got the best eyesight of anybody I ever come across--that's all I got to say." "I see him very distinctly." Anderson obligingly circled the tree. "Do you see him now?" he inquired in an amused tone. "Certainly. He walked around the tree just ahead of you." "What the--" began Anderson angrily, but checked the words in time. "You are mistaken. There ain't no one here, 'cept me." "Is he one of your subordinates?" queried the woman, leaning forward in the attitude of one peering intently. "Must be a shadow you're seein', ma'am," he suggested, and suddenly was conscious of the queer sensation that some one _was_ on the opposite side of the tree. "That's it!" she exclaimed eagerly. "A shadow! Aren't you detectives always shadowing some one?" "Yes, but we don't turn into shadows to do it, ma'am. We just--" "There he is! Standing directly behind you. What object can you possibly have, Mr. Crow, in lying to me about--" "Lying?" gasped Anderson, after a swift, apprehensive glance over his shoulder. "I'm tellin' you the gospel truth. Maybe that confounded veil's botherin' your eyesight. Take it off, an' you'll see there ain't no one--" "Ah! What a remarkable leap! He must be possessed of wings." Mr. Crow himself moved with such celerity that one might have described the movement as a leap. He was within a yard of her when he next spoke; his back was toward her, his eyes searching the darkness from which he had sprung.