"No, hang it, I don't," she snapped, and flung herself petulantly into a chair near the bamboo table, whereon the letters were lying. "It gives me the shivers to think that I have been acting with such a wicked devil." "Then you did not know--" "Know?" echoed Zara, savagely and glaring, "know--of course I didn't know. The man came to me a few weeks ago--after the murder now, I remember--and called himself Brown. I was in a hole, as the man who did the Chrysalis business had left in a hurry--drink, you know. I told you all about that." "Yes," admitted Clarice, with an air of recollection, "but you didn't say that Osip had taken on the part." "How the dickens could I when I didn't know the man? He called himself Brown, and seemed quiet and right enough, though he wasn't much of an acrobat. But he filled in the gap for the time being. I never intended to keep him long. I'll have to get another man to-morrow." "Didn't you recognise him from the police description?" "No. Plenty of men are tall and thin, and Brown didn't wear grey clothes when he came to me." "But the criss-cross scar on the left cheek--" "He hadn't got one. His face was disfigured on both cheeks--in fact, it was scarred all over, and he told me that a jealous woman had thrown vitrol at him. I guess he did it himself to obliterate that scar. Clever of him to come to me," added Zara, musingly, "and to dare to appear before dozens of people--I mean hundreds. Of course, he knew that his safety lay in such boldness. The police would hunt the slums and the shipping ports and country, towns, and what not. But who would expect to find a man described in the papers and wanted for eight murders in a music-hall acrobat? I call Brown, or rather Osip, confoundedly clever," and the dancer took another glass of wine; "here's to his health." "Oh, Zara--" "And oh, Zara," she mimicked. "You're a soft one, Ferdy. I admire cleverness wherever I find it, even in a murderer. All the same, I don't want to have anything to do with such a criminal. Ugh!" she shuddered, "I might have had the Purple Fern on my forehead also. Brown has been visiting me here on business, and I've been alone with him several times." "Alone with him?" said Clarice, pretending to jealousy. "Nice for me." Zara stared, and then laughed, as she began to lazily open the letters. "Don't pretend to be angry, Ferdy. You're not fond enough of me for that." "Not fond, when I am engaged to marry you?" "Pooh! That's compulsory. You'd be off after that Prudence creature if I'd let you. But I won't; you can make yourself easy on that score." She ran her eyes over the letter she was reading. "I like you well enough, and you are easy to manage. In my business, to be entirely respectable, I must have a husband, so you'll do as well as any one else. Also there is always the two thousand a year. I dare say I could get someone richer, but you'll do--you'll do."