She was, I could see, no every-day thief of the streets, no ordinary offender satisfied with mean and petty offenses. There would, I told myself, always be a largeness about her wrong-doing, a sinister brilliance in her illicit pursuits. And even while I decided this, I was forced to admit that it was not precisely terror I was beholding on her face. It seemed to merge into something more like a sense of shame, the same speechless horror which I might have met with had I intruded on her bodily nakedness. I could see that she was even beginning to resent my stare of curiosity. Then, for the first time, she spoke. "Who are you?" she asked. Her voice was low; in it was the quaver of the frightened woman resolutely steeling herself to courage. "That's a question you're first going to answer for me," was my calmly deliberate retort. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, still confronting me from the same spot. I remembered the bundle of loot which I had dropped just outside the door. "I can answer that more easily than you can," I replied, with a slight head-movement toward the broken desk-top. Once more her glance went back to the curtained door. Then she studied me from head to foot, each sartorial detail and accessory of clothing, hat, gloves, and shoes, as though each must figure in the resolution of some final judgment. "What do you want?" she demanded. I preferred to leave that question unanswered. "What do you intend to do?" she demanded, once more searching my face. I resented the way in which she anticipated my own questions. I could see, from the first, that she was going to be an extraordinarily adept and circuitous person to handle. I warned myself that I would have to be ready for every trick and turn. "What do you suppose I'm going to do?" I equivocated, looking for some betraying word to put me on firmer ground. I could see that she was slowly regaining her self-possession. "You have no right in this house," she had the brazenness to say to me. "Have _you_?" I quickly retorted. She was silent for a second or two. "No," she admitted, much as she would like to have claimed the contrary. "Of course not! And I imagine you realize what your presence here implies, just as what your discovery here entails?" "Yes," she admitted. "And I think you have the intelligence to understand that I'm here for motives somewhat more disinterested than your own?" "What are they?" she demanded, letting her combative eyes meet mine. "That," I calmly replied, "can wait until you've explained yourself." "I've nothing to explain." There was a newer note in her voice again--one of stubbornness. I could see that the calmness with which I pretended to regard the whole affair was a source of bewilderment to her. "You've got to explain," was my equally obdurate retort. Her next pose was one of frigidity. "You are quite mistaken. We have nothing whatever to do with each other." "Oh, yes we have. And I'm going to prove it."