But his thoughts flew to that summer night when his mastiffs howled against Valentine, and he felt as if a mystery were deepening round him as the autumn mist of evening deepened in the street outside. "I do," she reiterated. "I do. But nobody won't see it. And it's no use what I see. How can it be?" The words were almost a wail. "Tell me what you see." Cuckoo looked into the doctor's sincere eyes, and a sudden rush of hope came to her. "That's what I want to. But if you like him you'll only be angry." "No, I shall not." "Well, then. I see as he's ruinin' his friend." "Ruining Mr. Addison?" "Yes." It struck the doctor as very strange that such a girl as Cuckoo obviously was should cry out in such a passionate way against the ruin of any young man. Was it not her fate to ruin others as she herself had been ruined? He wondered what her connection with the two youths was, and perhaps his face showed something of his wonder, for Cuckoo added, after a long glance at him: "It's true; yes, it is," as if she read his doubts. "How do you come to know it?" the doctor said, not at all unkindly, but as if anxious to elucidate matters. "Why, I tell you I can see it plain. Besides," and here she dropped her voice, "Valentine, as he calls himself--though he ain't--as good as told me. He did tell me, only I couldn't understand. He knew I couldn't--d'you see? That's why he told me. Oh, if he'd only tell you!" Fragments of Valentine's exposition of his deeds and of his strange gospel were floating through Cuckoo's mind as fragments of broken wood float by on a stream, fragments of broken wood that were part of a puzzle, that should be rescued by some strong hand from the stream, and fitted together into a perfect whole. "Valentine! You say he told you that he was ruining Julian?" Unconsciously the doctor used the Christian names. His doing so set Cuckoo more at her ease. "Yes. Not like that. But he told me. He ain't what you think, nor what Julian thinks. He's somebody else, and you can't tell it. He's laughing at you all." Thus the gospel came forth from the painted lips of Cuckoo, crude and garbled, yet true gospel. The doctor was completely puzzled. All he gathered from this announcement was that Valentine seemed in some way to have been confiding in this girl of the streets. Such a fact was sufficiently astounding. That they should ever have been associated together in any way was almost incredible to any one who knew Valentine. Yet it was quite obvious that they did know each other, and in no ordinary manner. "Do you know Mr. Cresswell well?" the doctor said. He saw that he could only make the tangle clear by being to some extent judicial. Humanity merely excited Cuckoo to something that was violently involved, passionate, and almost hysterical. "Well enough." "And Mr. Addison?" Cuckoo flushed slowly. "Yes, I know him--quite well."