My state of mind may be imagined by those readers who take an interest in my personal psychology. It does not amuse me to look back upon it. But at length I had the sense to put myself in Raffles’s place. He had been recognized at last, he had come to life. Only one person knew as yet, but that person was a woman, and a woman who had once been fond of him, if the human face could speak. Would she keep his secret? Would he tell her where he lived? It was terrible to think we were such neighbors, and with the thought that it was terrible came a little enlightenment as to what could still be done for the best. He would not tell her where he lived. I knew him too well for that. He would run for it when he could, and the bath-chair and I must not be there to give him away. I dragged the infernal vehicle round the nearer corner. Then I waited—there could be no harm in that—and at last he came. He was walking briskly, so I was right, and he had not played the invalid to her; yet I heard him cry out with pleasure as he turned the corner, and he flung himself into the chair with a long-drawn sigh that did me good. “Well done, Bunny—well done! I am on my way to Earl’s Court, she’s capable of following me, but she won’t look for me in a bath-chair. Home, home, home, and not another word till we get there!” Capable of following him? She overtook us before we were past the studios on the south side of the square, the woman herself, in a hooded opera-cloak. But she never gave us a glance, and we saw her turn safely in the right direction for Earl’s Court, and the wrong one for our humble mansions. Raffles thanked his gods in a voice that trembled, and five minutes later we were in the flat. Then for once it was Raffles who filled the tumblers and found the cigarettes, and for once (and once only in all my knowledge of him) did he drain his glass at a draught. “You didn’t see the balcony scene?” he asked at length; and they were his first words since the woman passed us on his track. “Do you mean when she came in?” “No, when I came down.” “I didn’t.” “I hope nobody else saw it,” said Raffles devoutly. “I don’t say that Romeo and Juliet were brother and sister to us. But you might have said so, Bunny!” He was staring at the carpet with as wry a face as lover ever wore. “An old flame?” said I, gently. “A married woman,” he groaned. “So I gathered.” “But she always was one, Bunny,” said he, ruefully. “That’s the trouble. It makes all the difference in the world!” I saw the difference, but said I did not see how it could make any now. He had eluded the lady, after all; had we not seen her off upon a scent as false as scent could be? There was occasion for redoubled caution in the future, but none for immediate anxiety. I quoted the bedside Theobald, but Raffles did not smile. His eyes had been downcast all this time, and now, when he raised them, I perceived that my comfort had been administered to deaf ears. “Do you know who she is?” said he.