"You have every reason to know that I am innocent." Kathleen was thoroughly roused. "It is not a question of faith on your part," significantly. "I see no use in these discussions. It is better that we do not meet. Again I ask you to go--forever." Without replying he turned and paced the room rapidly, hands in pocket, head bent forward. Kathleen watched him with burning eyes and aching heart. To outward seeming he had the attributes which make for success. What mad blood-lust had made him throw the world away? "Suppose I accede to your unreasonable request, Kathleen," he said, stopping before her. "Will you do something for me?" "Yes," huskily. "Then get from your father the specifications and drawings of his latest invention for me." As if she had not heard aright, Kathleen stared at him. "Wh-what is it you ask?" she stammered. "The plans of your father's _latest_ invention," patiently. "I do not mean the camera." "Either you or I are mad," she looked at him dazedly. "Do you realize that my father would not give me those plans--that I should have to steal them." "Expediency knows no law," he muttered, not meeting her eyes. "Call it borrowing." Kathleen shrank back appalled. "Good God! That you should be so base!" she cried. "For more than forty-eight hours I have closed my eyes to reason; deluded myself that you acted from temporary mental aberration--that Sinclair Spencer's death was unpremeditated. My impulse was to help--to save. Ah, you wooed me well this winter." Her voice broke and she drew a long quivering breath. "It is a pitiful thing to kill a woman's love. Some day, perhaps, I shall be grateful to you. Go!" He flinched at the scorn in her voice, but stood his ground doggedly. "Not until I get the drawings and specifications of the invention," he answered. The slamming of the front door caused Kathleen to look in that direction, and Henry's entrance the next instant stayed the words on her parted lips. "A special delivery for you, Miss Kathleen," he said, "from the State Department." Kathleen took the proffered envelope mechanically. "Wait, Henry," steadying her voice. "When Captain Miller calls again, he is not to be admitted, under any pretense." "Very good, Miss Kathleen," and concealing his curiosity, the chauffeur moved swiftly away. There was a pause which Miller broke. "Read your letter," he said composedly. "I can wait." Kathleen was on the point of collapse; desperately she clung to her remnant of composure. Hardly conscious of her action, she tore open the outer envelope, and read the brief statement that the letter inclosed had been sent to her, care of the Department of State. With some stirring of curiosity not unmixed with dread, she examined the contents of the second envelope. It read: "United Service Club, "London, England. "MY DEAR MISS WHITNEY: