“Of course I did!” Henry replied. “I said that I held her responsible for the discovery, though I had not mentioned her connection with it to the authorities as yet. She went on with her writing as if I had spoken in an unknown tongue! I was equally obstinate, on my side. I told her plainly that the head had been placed under the care of the police, and that the manager and I had signed our declarations and given our evidence. She paid not the slightest heed to me. By way of tempting her to speak, I added that the whole investigation was to be kept a secret, and that she might depend on my discretion. For the moment I thought I had succeeded. She looked up from her writing with a passing flash of curiosity, and said, ‘What are they going to do with it?’—meaning, I suppose, the head. I answered that it was to be privately buried, after photographs of it had first been taken. I even went the length of communicating the opinion of the surgeon consulted, that some chemical means of arresting decomposition had been used and had only partially succeeded—and I asked her point-blank if the surgeon was right? The trap was not a bad one—but it completely failed. She said in the coolest manner, ‘Now you are here, I should like to consult you about my play; I am at a loss for some new incidents.’ Mind! there was nothing satirical in this. She was really eager to read her wonderful work to me—evidently supposing that I took a special interest in such things, because my brother is the manager of a theatre! I left her, making the first excuse that occurred to me. So far as I am concerned, I can do nothing with her. But it is possible that _your_ influence may succeed with her again, as it has succeeded already. Will you make the attempt, to satisfy your own mind? She is still upstairs; and I am quite ready to accompany you.” Agnes shuddered at the bare suggestion of another interview with the Countess. “I can’t! I daren’t!” she exclaimed. “After what has happened in that horrible room, she is more repellent to me than ever. Don’t ask me to do it, Henry! Feel my hand—you have turned me as cold as death only with talking of it!” She was not exaggerating the terror that possessed her. Henry hastened to change the subject. “Let us talk of something more interesting,” he said. “I have a question to ask you about yourself. Am I right in believing that the sooner you get away from Venice the happier you will be?” “Right?” she repeated excitedly. “You are more than right! No words can say how I long to be away from this horrible place. But you know how I am situated—you heard what Lord Montbarry said at dinner-time?” “Suppose he has altered his plans, since dinner-time?” Henry suggested. Agnes looked surprised. “I thought he had received letters from England which obliged him to leave Venice to-morrow,” she said.