“Do not take this refusal as a personal matter, Mr. Freeman. The circumstances are such that we are not allowed to reveal The White One’s identity to anyone. We are under oath.” The terrorist was too keen a man not to see that some slight doubt of him was lurking in their minds. However, he silently swallowed his mortification, and took his double rebuff with a philosophic shrug. He said he would abandon for the present his plan against the military governor’s life, begged to be considered a willing coöperator in whatever activity they might devise, and then took his leave. To Drexel, outside one door, it was a distinct relief when that sinister figure was outside the other. “To think of his proposing to _us_ to kill Prince Valenko!” said Razoff, laughing grimly. “But he may undertake the plan himself,” said the woman anxiously. “If he does,” returned Razoff, “we will warn the governor ourselves.” All this while the woman had been seated, her back to Drexel; but now she rose and went around the table to snuff the spluttering candle. At the graceful ease of her walk, which even her shapeless garments could not obliterate, a wild and sudden possibility leaped up in Drexel; and when the candlelight fell upon her face, though forehead and chin and cheeks were hidden by the shawl, the possibility became a breath-taking certainty. Nose, mouth, eyes, were the same! She snuffed the candle. “Excuse me for a few minutes,” she said to the men, and crossed straight toward Drexel’s door. CHAPTER VI THE KING AND THE BEGGAR MAID Drexel slipped down and was standing at the table when the bolt shot back and she entered. She closed the door, and stood looking a moment at him, and he gazed back at her. Despite those beauty-murdering clothes, the spell of her personality was more sovereign even than yesternight. She was the first to speak. “I have come,” said she in that low rich voice that set his every nerve to vibrating, “to thank you and apologize.” He could only incline his head. “To thank you for what you so gallantly did for me last night.” Drexel found his voice, and he could not keep a little irony out of his words. “Your thanks seem rather oddly expressed.” He motioned about the imprisoning room. “It is for that I would apologize. I am sorry. But it seemed to us necessary.” “Necessary! Why?” She looked him straight in the face. “Because I did not wholly trust you.” “Not trust me?” “You had seen me--you guessed what I had done--you could have identified me had you seen me again, and could have turned me over to the police. That would possibly have meant my death; certainly the destruction of all my plans.” “Then you really tried to shoot Prince Berloff?” “I did not. He fired the shots; so that he could say I fired and bring against me the charge of attempted assassination.” “But,” said Drexel, reverting to her preceding statement, “you seemed to trust me at first.” “Yes.” “And then you did not?” “Frankly--no.”