“I behaved shamefully,” said the woman. “But I did it for you!” And she looked at him over her handkerchief, with wet eyelashes. Ilam would have gone through unutterable torture for her in that moment. It was a highly strange thing--this late coming of love into the existence of Josephus Ilam. It transformed him. It made him feel that, at fifty, he was only just beginning to grasp the meaning of life. It made him see that hitherto his days and his years had been wasted on vain things, and that the only commodity really worth having in this world was such a look as Juliette gave him out of her impassioned eyes. He could not understand what so bewitching and lively a woman as Juliette could see in a heavy, gloomy fellow like him. For the matter of that, probably no other person, save only Juliette, could understand that mystery. But then, when a woman loves a man, she sees him in a radiance shed from her own soul, and it changes him. “My poor friend,” said Juliette, composing herself, “why do you put me in such an awkward position, coming upstairs like this, and in the middle of the day, too? You must have bribed one of the servants.” “I did,” said Ilam. “Well, don’t tell me which,” Juliette put in quickly. He bent down and kissed her. Yes, this heavy and rather creaky person, who had laughed at love for several decades, bent down and kissed a pretty woman sitting on a Louis Quinze sofa; moreover, he put his arms round her. He did it clumsily, of course, but Juliette did not think so. “I was obliged to see you,” he told her. “I couldn’t go without seeing you. Why have you so persistently kept out of my way? You were so kind that morning--when Carpentaria surprised you. Has he been bullying you?” “Ah!” exclaimed Juliette, suddenly excited. “I cannot tell you what he said to me. You know I love him best in the world--next to--you. But he said such things to me--such things!” “He said--oh, my dearest!--he said his life was not safe--he said no one’s life was safe in this City--he said he had been shot at in the bandstand; and, you know, that business of the milk was dreadful. The strange thing is that Carlos won’t consult the police about it.” “But how does this affect us--affect you and me?” demanded Ilam bravely. “Dearest,” said Juliette, “poor Carlos thinks--he actually thinks----” “That I am trying to kill him?” “He thinks you have something to do with it.” “But why? Why should I want to kill your brother--your brother?” “Yes, indeed!” agreed Juliette. “And why should you want to kill anybody’s brother?” she added. “Of course,” he said hastily. “Why should I want to kill any person at all?” “Carlos says that he is not the only person you have tried to kill.” “Ha! And who is the other? Give me the full catalogue.” “I don’t know. He says you have buried a man in the grounds, and that he saw you do it.”