Carstairs stared at him for a moment, unseeingly. Then he passed his hand over his eyes as if to clear them of something revolting. The moment was tense, spasmodic, prophetic of approaching collapse. The strength and courage and confidence of the man had sustained a shock that made ruin of them all. He wondered dumbly whether he would ever have the power and the desire to lift his head again and look into the eye of this man who sat there with him. The whole fabric of existence was torn to shreds by the merciless revelations contained in the papers he had read with the steel in his heart. They were complete, irrefutable indictments. There was no such thing as going behind them. Steele's blighting conjectures suddenly became truths of the most appalling nature; the astonishing record of Hodges the butler laid bare a multitude of secrets; the brief, almost laconic summing-up of facts in the possession of the Department took the heart out of his body and scorched it with conviction,--for he knew that the Secret Eye had looked into the very soul of the woman he loved and cherished and trusted.... “If you do not object, I will speak with her--alone,” said he, lifelessly. He struggled to his feet, and, by the mightiest effort of the will, lifted his head and fixed his haggard eyes upon the face of the man who had cast the bomb at his feet:--a far more potent agent of destruction than any that Germany herself had ever hurled! It was to destroy heaven and earth for him. Jones, cleared his throat. “That is for you to decide, Mr. Carstairs,” he said, and there was something significant in his voice and manner. “Will you take these documents--” “No. I do not wish her to see them. Be good enough to step into the drawing-room,--and wait. This way--through this door. And please call your companion. It is not necessary for him to stand guard over her. You have my word that she shall not escape.” “We are to respect your wishes in every particular, Mr. Carstairs. The authorities appreciate your position. It is their desire to spare you, if possible, the disgrace, the pain--” He stopped. “I think I understand,” said Davenport Carstairs slowly. A moment later he was alone. Presently he unlocked and opened a small drawer in his desk. He took out something that glittered, examined it carefully, and then stuck it into his coat pocket. His jaws were set; in his eyes lay the hard, cold light of steel. He did not falter. She had not been fair with him, but he would be fair with her. He would stand by her to the end.... She should have her chance. He would see to it that the newspapers,--and the world,--dealt kindly with her. He had loved her. If possible, he would see to it that he was the only one in all the world to hate her. He went to her room. CHAPTER VIII