“Not murder, I promise you. She’s strong, and all she’ll get will be a slight headache to-morrow morning. You can’t imagine I’d kill such a charming girl!” Miss Girton leaned across the table, thrusting her face down close to his, but in the gloom the shadow of his hat brim fell across his features like a mask. “Swine!” she hissed. He moved his hand protestingly. “Your newly-acquired righteousness isn’t wanted,” he said. “I’m honestly very fond of Patricia, but I’m afraid she wouldn’t take me seriously as things are. So let us say that I propose to apply the rather unconventional methods of Miss Holm’s sheiks.” “I am also very fond of Patricia,” said Miss Girton. “You ought to tell her,” replied the man sardonically. “But mind you break it to her gently. No, my dear, that shouldn’t trouble you very much. On a suitable occasion I shall ask Patricia to marry me, and nothing could be more respectable than that.” Miss Girton stared. “Why lie?” she asked bitterly. “There are no witnesses.” “But I mean it,” persisted the man. The woman’s gaunt face twisted in a sneer, and there was a venomous hatred in her eyes. “Some people say that all crooks are slightly mad,” she answered. “I’m beginning to think they’re right.” The man lifted his face a trifle, so that he could look reproachfully at her. He ignored her sally, but he spoke again in a soft, dreamy, sing-song tone. “I was never more serious in my life. I have succeeded in my profession. In my way I am a great man. I am educated, clever, cultured, travelled, healthy, entertaining. I have all the wealth that a man could desire. My youth is passing away, though I still look very young. But I see the best years slipping past and leaving me alone. I love Patricia. I must do this to show her that I am in earnest; afterwards she will refuse me nothing. . . .” The voice trailed away, and Miss Girton wrenched a chair round savagely. “Mad!” she muttered, and he sat up with a start. “What was I saying?” His eye fell on the glistening white pellet marooned in the expanse of polished walnut. “Oh, yes. Do you understand?” Agatha Girton came close to him again. “You’re mad,” she rasped—“I’ll tell you so again. With all this money, all this wealth you boast about, why did you have to put the black on me? If you’re so rich, what was a mere twenty thousand to you?” “One can never have too much,” said the man. “And now, as things have fallen out, it is all going back where it belongs—as a dowry. Anyhow, is twenty thousand so much to pay for liberty, and even life? They might manage to get you for murder, you know, Aunt Agatha.” “Don’t call me Aunt Agatha.” “Then——” “Nor that, either.” The man shrugged. “Very well, O Nameless One,” he said with calculated insolence. “Remember this, Nameless One, that I have taken a lot of money from you, but now I want something that money cannot buy. And you will give it to me. . . . Otherwise—but you dare not be stupid!”