“Will you please state your business?” she said, with a touch of impatience. “You are Mrs. Revel? Mrs. Timothy Revel?” “Yes. I told you so just now.” “Quite so. It is a good thing that you consented to see me, Mrs. Revel. Otherwise, as I told your butler, I should have been compelled to do business with your husband.” Virginia looked at him in astonishment, but some impulse quelled the retort that sprang to her lips. She contented herself by remarking dryly: “You might have found some difficulty in doing that.” “I think not. I am very persistent. But I will come to the point. Perhaps you recognize this?” He flourished something in his hand. Virginia looked at it without much interest. “Can you tell me what it is, madame?” “It appears to be a letter,” replied Virginia, who was by now convinced that she had to do with a man who was mentally unhinged. “And perhaps you note to whom it is addressed,” said the man significantly, holding it out to her. “I can read,” Virginia informed him pleasantly. “It is addressed to a Captain O’Neill at Rue de Quenelles No. 15, Paris.” The man seemed searching her face hungrily for something he did not find. “Will you read it, please?” Virginia took the envelope from him, drew out the enclosure and glanced at it; but almost immediately she stiffened and held it out to him again. “This is a private letter—certainly not meant for my eyes.” The man laughed sardonically. “I congratulate you, Mrs. Revel, on your admirable acting. You play your part to perfection. Nevertheless, I think that you will hardly be able to deny the signature!” “The signature?” Virginia turned the letter over—and was struck dumb with astonishment. The signature, written in a delicate slanting hand, was Virginia Revel. Checking the exclamation of astonishment that rose to her lips, she turned again to the beginning of the letter and deliberately read the whole thing through. Then she stood a minute lost in thought. The nature of the letter made it clear enough what was in prospect. “Well, madame?” said the man. “That is your name, is it not?” “Oh, yes,” said Virginia. “It’s my name.” “But not my handwriting,” she might have added. Instead she turned a dazzling smile upon her visitor. “Supposing,” she said sweetly, “we sit down and talk it over?” He was puzzled. Not so had he expected her to behave. His instinct told him that she was not afraid of him. “First of all, I should like to know how you found me out?” “That was easy.” He took from his pocket a page torn from an illustrated paper, and handed it to her. Anthony Cade would have recognized it. She gave it back to him with a thoughtful little frown. “I see,” she said. “It was very easy.” “Of course you understand, Mrs. Revel, that that is not the only letter. There are others.” “Dear me,” said Virginia, “I seem to have been frightfully indiscreet.” Again she could see that her light tone puzzled him. She was by now thoroughly enjoying herself.