She sat down again and looked keenly at him, as if trying to divine the strength of his determination. "I have nothing to explain," she said presently. "If I had, you could not compel me. If you attempt it I shall scream." "Quite worth trying," he said urbanely. "Start now. I haven't the least objection." Mizzi remained silent for several minutes, debating the point. Then she laughed frankly, as if admiring his coolness. "Ah! that's better!" he approved. "Now, perhaps, we shall get on." "But no!" she said quickly, "I shall not scream, because I am quite capable of taking care of myself. But I will tell you nothing. What next, monsieur?" Lionel got off the bed and began to fill a pipe in leisurely fashion. "You don't mind me smoking?" he asked formally. "It always helps me." He struck a match and lighted the tobacco, apparently preoccupied. "What next? you ask. This. Have you ever seen that Pinero play, _The Gay Lord Quex_?" She shook her head, puzzled. "Ah! that's a pity, for I am going to borrow a hint if you are difficile. If you refuse to confess I mean to keep you locked up here till the morning." "And then?" "Then I shall ring for my shaving-water. And where's your character?" She bit her lips. "I mistook you for a gentleman." "Ah! that was the fault of the top hat. I'm really a detective and can't afford the luxury of sentiment." Mizzi nibbled a finger-nail, and watched him with sparkling eyes. It was clear that she was not at ease, that she had not expected to find him so ready with a plan, so determined in dishonor. Being a woman, it is probable that she did not altogether blame him. Lionel smiled, reading her, as he thought, like a book. "Well, what is it to be?" She made a disconsolate gesture. "You are too strong," she said, and smiled in pitiful appeal. "Ah, monsieur! once you would not have----" "That line is useless," said Lionel brutally. He was playing for high stakes and could not afford to waste a trick. "Once I flirted and had the pleasure of a kiss. Never again, my pretty schemer! So don't try it on!" She looked bewildered. "You misunderstand me cruelly. But as I am to be beaten, let us get to business. What do you wish to know?" "Where are the papers?" She did not attempt to parry now. "They are not in this house." "That is a lie." She shrugged again. "Monsieur is not discriminating. I tell you the truth. I took the papers and have hidden them. They are not here. If you like, here are my keys"--she held them out--"you may search my boxes." He looked steadily at her. There was no wavering in her tone, no weakness in the eyes or mouth. Belief was imperative. "Very well," he said. "Where have you hidden them?" "I will not tell you that." "You know the penalty?" "Yes, and I do not care. I tell you so much, but not that." Her voice was so inflexible, so cold and so indifferent that he felt defeat at hand. "Leave it for the present, then. Have you sold them?" "No. They would not pay the price."