“In time you shall. One moment. As you realize, you are under presumption of murder. Do you know the identity of the victim?” “Of Astræa? That’s all I know about her. I don’t even know her last name.” “Why Astræa?” “That’s the way she signed herself. She seemed to think I knew all about her, without being told.” “And you played up to that belief?” “Well—of course I did.” “Yes, you naturally would. But if you had no name to write to, how could you answer the letters?” “Through personal advertisements. She had made out a code. She was a smart one in some ways, I can tell you.” “Have you any of the letters here?” “Only the last one.” “Bring it to me.” Obediently as an intimidated child, the astrologer left the room, presently returning with a plain sheet of paper with handwriting on one side. Kent, who almost never made a mistake, had forgotten in his absorption in the matter of the document, the presence, even the existence, of Marjorie Blair. He was recalled to himself, with a shock, as he felt her shoulder touch his. Involuntarily he whirled the sheet behind him. “Let me see the rest of it, please,” she said calmly enough. Kent nodded. With drooping head, and chin a-twitch, the Master of Stars stood studying them, while they read the letter together. It was in two handwritings, the date, address and body of the letter being in a clear running character, while the signature, “Astræa,” was in very fine, minute, detached lettering. The note read: “All is now ready. You have but to carry out our arrangements implicitly. The place is known to you. There can be no difficulty in your finding it. At two hours after sundown of July the fifth we shall be there. Our ship will be in waiting. All will be as before. Fail me not. Your reward shall be greater than you dream. _Astræa._” Kent looked askance at Mrs. Blair. She was very white, and her sensitive lips quivered a little, but she contrived, with an effort of courage which he marked with a flashing access of admiration, to smile reassuringly. “Don’t fear for me,” she said. “We Dorrances are of firm fiber.” “So I see,” he said warmly. He folded and pocketed the letter. “Had you ever been to this place before?” Kent asked of Jax. “No.” “Then how did you expect to find it?” “She sent me a map. I lost it—that night.” “What about the ship?” “I wish you’d tell _me_. There wasn’t any ship that I could see.” “And the reference to all being as it was before?” “You’ve got me again, there. In most every letter there was something about things I didn’t understand. She seemed to think we used to know each other. Maybe we did. Hundreds of ’em come to me. I can’t remember ’em all. Sometimes she called me Hermann. My name ain’t Hermann. Right up to the time I saw her on the Heights I was afraid she was taking me for somebody else and that the whole game would be queered as soon as we came face to face.”