Lucette stared at me a moment, her lips pursed, dubious, her impenetrable blue eyes holding mine. "I will, if you will," she said finally. "Let's." It was dangerous, I knew, to take her at her word; yet I ventured. "I've a weak hand, Lucette; but there's one honest ace of trumps in it." "There could hardly be two," smiled Lucette. "No; I count on that. In a pinch, I shall take the one trick essential, and throw the others away." I leaned to her and spoke slowly: "There is no reason, affecting her honor or rights, why Gertrude may not return to her home--if she so desires. I think you understand me?" "Perfectly. You wish to protect Miss Blake. You would try to do that in any case, wouldn't you? But I'm rather afraid you're too late. I'm afraid Miss Blake has handicapped you too heavily. If so, it was clever of her--for she must have done it on purpose. You see, Ambrose, it was she who sent for Gertrude." "Susan!" "Susan. Telegraphed her--of all things!--either to come home to you or set you free. The implication's transparent. Especially as I had thought it my duty to warn Gertrude in advance--and as Mr. Phar sent her, by messenger, a vague but very disturbing note this morning." "Maltby?" "Yes. His note was delivered not five minutes ahead of Susan's wire. Gertrude caught the next train. And there you are." Well, at least I began to see now, dimly, where Maltby was, where Susan was, where we all were--except, possibly Gertrude. Putting enormous constraint on my leaping nerves, I subdued every trace of anger. "Two more questions, Lucette. Do you believe me when I say, with all the sincerity I'm capable of, that Susan is slandered by these suspicions?" "Really," answered Lucette, with a little worried frown, as if anxiously balancing alternatives, "I'm not, am I, in a position to judge?" I swallowed hard. "All right," I managed to say coldly. "Then I have placed you. You're not an onlooker--you're an open foe." "And the second question, Ambrose?" "What, precisely, does Gertrude want from me?" "I'm not, am I, in a position to judge?" repeated Lucette. "But one supposes it depends a little on what you're expecting--from her?" "All I humbly plead for," said I, "is a chance to see Gertrude alone and talk things over." "Don't you mean talk _her_ over?" suggested Lucette. "And aren't you," she murmured, "forgetting the last straw?" VII My confusion of mind, my consternation, as I left the Egyptian tomb, was pitiable. One thing, one only, I saw with distinctness: The being I loved best was to be harried and smirched, an innocent victim of the folly and malignity of others. "Never," I muttered, "Never--never--never!"