She laid it at the foot of the bed, and then bent down inquiringly to old Mrs. Ilam, who rested with closed eyes. “She is asleep,” murmured Rosie. “Through all this?” “Yes, thank heaven! She sleeps very heavily sometimes. Will you not put the bed back in its place? I do not like to see it here. It is painful, very painful, in spite of all you have told me about her, to see this. She is very old and very helpless.” During the conversation Ilam had remained in a sort of stupor. It was as though the effort of putting the photograph in the fire, and then the shock of Rosie’s sudden appearance, had exhausted the energies which he had managed with difficulty to collect as the results of the narcotic passed away; it was as though the narcotic had resumed its sway over him for a time. But now he came brusquely forward, taking two long steps across the room, and stood between Rosie and Jetsam, and he put his face quite close to Rosie’s face, as an actor does to an actress on the stage. “Are you this scoundrel’s accomplice?” he asked hoarsely. “Cousin,” said Rosie, “Mr. Jetsam is not a scoundrel, and I am nobody’s accomplice.” “He has nearly killed me, and he has robbed me of two thousand five hundred pounds,” pursued Ilam. “If that is not being a scoundrel, what is? Tell me that. You are his accomplice. You came into this house to serve his ends.” “Indeed, I did not,” protested Rosie, “I came into this house with my sister at your urgent request.” “Yes,” sneered Ilam. “That is what you made me believe, you chit! You worked it very well; but I know different now.” “Until I came here I had never seen Mr. Jetsam,” said Rosie. “You have come to understand each other remarkably well in quite a few days.” “Perhaps we have,” admitted the girl. “But if you object you have a simple remedy.” “What is that?” “You say he is a thief and almost a murderer. You say that I am his accomplice; we are criminals therefore. Bring us to justice. Have the entire affair thrashed out, Cousin Ilam.” “You know that I cannot do that,” said Ilam. “I am well aware that you dare not,” said Rosie. “The scandal would be intolerable. Think of Pauline’s feelings.” “But suppose Pauline, too, is in the conspiracy?” “There would always be the scandal. It would ruin the City.” “It is neither the scandal nor the City that you are thinking of, Cousin Ilam,” said Rosie. “It is merely yourself or your mother. If it is your mother, well and good.” Ilam retired a couple of paces, uncertain what to say in reply, and possibly fearing some attack from Mr. Jetsam, who stood behind him. There was a silence, and then Ilam murmured: “Ah! my poor mother, sleeping there in the midst of all this!” It was a cry from the strange man’s heart, and another silence ensued. The situation had reached such a point as baffled all the parties to it to discover a solution. It was Jetsam who broke the silence. “I will leave you,” he said in a low voice. “Good-bye,” he said, as no one replied.