'We ought to be the best of friends. I haven't the least wish to do you harm, and nothing would please me better than to gratify your little feeling against a certain person. I may be able to manage that. Let me tell you something--of course in the strictest confidence.' Her voice was playful for a moment. 'I have been trying to find someone--you know who I mean--who mysteriously disappeared. That interests you, I see. It's very difficult; such people don't let themselves be dropped upon by chance a second time. But, do you know, I have something very like a clue, at last. Yes'--she nodded familiarly--'I have.' In vain Alma tried to lock her lips. 'What if you find her?' 'Do you forget that someone will very soon be at large again, and that someone's wife, a very clever woman, counts on deceiving the world as she deceived _him_?' 'You are sure she _did_ deceive him?' Mrs. Strangeways laughed. 'You are acute, my dear. You see the puzzle from all sides. But I won't go into that just now. What I want to show you is, that our interests are the same. We should both dearly like to see a certain person shown up. I begin to see my way to do it very thoroughly. It would delight you if I were at liberty to tell what I actually _have_ got hold of, but you must wait a little. My worst difficulty, now, is want of money. People have to be bought, you know, and I am not rich----. Don't you think you could help a little?' The question came out with smooth abruptness, accompanied by a look which startled the hearer. 'I? I have no money.' 'What an idea!' 'I tell you I haven't a penny of my own!' 'My dear Alma, you have obliging bankers. One of them is doing very well indeed. You didn't go to his wedding?' Alma felt a chill of fear. The woman's eyes seemed to cast a net about her, and to watch her struggle as it tightened. 'I don't understand you. I have nothing to do with your plots.' She strung her muscles and stood up; but Mrs. Strangeways, scarcely moving, still looked at her with baleful directness. 'It would be a shame to lose our sport for want of a little money. I must ask you to help, really.' 'I can't--and won't.' 'I feel sure you will--rather than have anything happen. You are leading, I hear, a most exemplary life; I should be so sorry to disturb it. But really, you _must_ help in our undertaking.' There was a very short silence. 'A week, even a fortnight hence, will do. No great sum; two or three hundred pounds. We won't say any more about it; I depend upon you. In a fortnight's time will do.' 'Do you imagine,' exclaimed Alma, on a high, quivering note, 'that I am in your power?' 'Hush! It is very dangerous to talk like that in a hotel.--Think over what I have said. You will find me here. Think, and remember. You will be quite satisfied with the results, but your help is indispensable.'