"What is it that my brother-in-law desires to know?" "The truth," he replied sternly. "What took you to that vile den on the night of your masquerade? Are those Francoises the people you have so frequently visited by stealth? Are they your clandestine correspondents?" "Your questions come too fast," she retorted calmly. "I will reverse the order of my answers. The Francoises _are_ my clandestine correspondents. My visits by stealth, have all been paid to them. It was a threat that took me there that eventful night." "A threat?" "Yes." "Then you are in their power?" "I was." "And their sway has ceased?" "It has ceased." "Since when?" "Since the receipt of this." She took from her pocket the crumpled note, and held it out to him. He read it with his face blanching. "Then it was _you_!" he gasped, with a recoil of horror. "It was a blow in my defence," she said, with a glance full of meaning. "It would not become me to save myself at the expense of the one who dealt it." His eyes flashed, but she looked at him steadily. "Do you _know_ who struck that blow?" he asked. "To tell you would not add to your store of knowledge," she retorted. "Have you more to say, Mr. Warburton?" "More? yes. Who are these Francoises? What are they to you?" Her answer came with slow deliberation. "They call themselves my father and mother." "My God!" "It is true. I was adopted by the Ulimans. My husband and Mr. Follingsbee were aware of this. It seems that I was given to the Ulimans by these people." She had aimed this blow at his pride, but that pride was swallowed up by his consternation. As she watched his countenance, the surprise changed to incredulity, the incredulity to contempt. Then he said, dryly: "Your story is excellent, but too improbable. Will you answer a few more questions?" "Ask them." "On the night of the masquerade you received here, in your husband's house, by appointment, a man disguised in woman's apparel." "Well?" "You admit it? Do you know how I effected my escape that night?" "I do. A brave man came to your rescue." "Precisely; and this 'brave man', is the same who was present at the masquerade; is it not so?" "It is." "Who is this man?" "I decline to answer." "What is he to you, then?" "What he is to all who know him: a brave, true man; a gentleman." "Hem! You have an exalted opinion of this--this _gentleman_." "And so should you have, since he saved your life, and what you value more, your reputation. And now listen: this same man has bidden me tell you, has bidden me warn you, that dangers surround you on every hand; that Van Vernet has traced the resemblance between you and the Sailor of that night; that he will hunt you down if possible. Your safety depends upon your success in baffling his efforts to identify you with that Sailor." "Your _friend_ is very thoughtful," he sneered. She turned toward the door with an air of weariness. "This is our last interview," she said coldly; "have you more to say?"