"There is something more than this--something that I do not understand," she persisted. "I think I have a right to know." "Since you insist, there is. There is the wad of the blank cartridge that you fired in the outbuilding." "Oh!" she exclaimed, in the moment of startled undefence, "how do you--how can you----" "You must leave the conjurer his few tricks for effect. Of course you naturally would fire it where the precious pellet could not get lost--the paper you steamed off the cigarette that Whitmarsh threw into the empty fire-grate; and of course the place must be some distance from the house or even that slight report might occasion remark." "Yes," she confessed, in a sudden abandonment to weary indifference, "it has been useless. I was a fool to set my cleverness against yours. Now, I suppose, Mr Carrados, you will have to hand me over to justice? "Well; why don't you say something?" she demanded impatiently, as he offered no comment. "People frequently put me in this embarrassing position," he explained diffidently, "and throw the responsibility on me. Now a number of years ago a large and stately building was set up in London and it was beautifully called 'The Royal Palace of Justice.' That was its official name and that was what it was to be; but very soon people got into the way of calling it the Law Courts, and to-day, if you asked a Londoner to direct you to the Palace of Justice he would undoubtedly set you down as a religious maniac. You see my difficulty?" "It is very strange," she said, intent upon her own reflections, "but I do not feel a bit ashamed to you of what I have done. I do not even feel afraid to tell you all about it, although of some of that I must certainly be ashamed. Why is it?" "Because I am blind?" "Oh no," she replied very positively. Carrados smiled at her decision but he did not seek to explain that when he could no longer see the faces of men the power was gradually given to him of looking into their hearts, to which some in their turn--strong, free spirits--instinctively responded. "There is such a thing as friendship at first sight," he suggested. "Why, yes; like quite old friends," she agreed. "It is a pity that I had no very trusty friend, since my mother died when I was quite little. Even my father has been--it is queer to think of it now--well, almost a stranger to me really." She looked at Carrados's serene and kindly face and smiled. "It is a great relief to be able to talk like this, without the necessity for lying," she remarked. "Did you know that I was engaged?" "No; you had not told me that." "Oh no, but you might have heard of it. He is a clergyman whom I met last summer. But, of course, that is all over now." "You have broken it off?"