“You force me to say that you did not, and to remind you that you gave me your word not to emerge from behind the screen. However, seeing the motive, I can only thank you for that lapse. The pity is that it hopelessly compromises you.” “Me?” exclaimed Miss Fincastle. “You. Can’t you see that you are in it, in this robbery, to give the thing a label. You were alone with the robber. You succoured the robber at a critical moment.... ‘Accomplice,’ Mr. Bowring himself said. My dear journalist, the episode of the revolver, empty though the revolver was, seals your lips.” Miss Fincastle laughed rather hysterically, leaning over the table with her hands on it. “My dear millionaire,” she said rapidly, “you don’t know the new journalism to which I have the honour to belong. You would know it better had you lived more in New York. All I have to announce is that, compromised or not, a full account of this affair will appear in my paper to-morrow morning. No, I shall not inform the police. I am a journalist simply, but a journalist I _am_.” “And your promise, which you gave me before going behind the screen, your solemn promise that you would reveal nothing? I was loth to mention it.” “Some promises, Mr. Thorold, it is a duty to break, and it is my duty to break this one. I should never have given it had I had the slightest idea of the nature of your recreations.” Thorold still smiled, though faintly. “Really, you know,” he murmured, “this is getting just a little serious.” “It is very serious,” she stammered. And then Thorold noticed that the new journalist was softly weeping. V. The door opened. “Miss Kitty Sartorius,” said the erstwhile liftman, who was now in plain clothes and had mysteriously ceased to squint. A beautiful girl, a girl who had remarkable loveliness and was aware of it (one of the prettiest women of the Devonshire), ran impulsively into the room and caught Miss Fincastle by the hand. “My dearest Eve, you’re crying. What’s the matter?” “Lecky,” said Thorold aside to the servant. “I told you to admit no one.” The beautiful blonde turned sharply to Thorold. “I told him I wished to enter,” she said imperiously, half closing her eyes. “Yes, sir,” said Lecky. “That was it. The lady wished to enter.” Thorold bowed. “It was sufficient,” he said. “That will do, Lecky.” “Yes, sir.” “But I say, Lecky, when next you address me publicly, try to remember that I am not in the peerage.” The servant squinted. “Certainly, sir.” And he retired. “Now we are alone,” said Miss Sartorius. “Introduce us, Eve, and explain.” Miss Fincastle, having regained self-control, introduced her dear friend the radiant star of the Regency Theatre, and her acquaintance the millionaire. “Eve didn’t feel _quite_ sure of you,” the actress stated; “and so we arranged that if she wasn’t up at my flat by nine o’clock, I was to come down and reconnoitre. What have you been doing to make Eve cry?” “Unintentional, I assure you----” Thorold began.