Then she made the usual final tour of the suite of rooms, and was about to turn down the electric light, when she heard the slight sound of heavy tread on the soft carpet outside, and looking round, saw that two men, respectably but not exactly well dressed, were standing in the room. A foreboding of evil came upon her at once. One of the men, she thought, was a policeman in plain clothes. She looked at his boots, and was confirmed in this uncomfortable impression. “Who are you? And what do you want?” she asked sharply. And as she spoke she made a step in the direction of the door, feeling that Gerard ought to be present. But the man with the policeman’s boots stepped quietly in her way and said respectfully enough:-- “I beg pardon, ma’am. Madame Rocada, I believe?” Audrey hesitated. What ought she to say? “What do you want with Madame Rocada?” asked she. There was a moment’s hesitancy on the part of the man, and then his companion nodded to him to go on:-- “Well, ma’am, it appears that Madame Rocada was a lady that lived in Paris, and that came over here. And her friends have set to work to trace her.” Audrey’s breath came fast. The lady in white! The White Countess! “Well!” said she. The man went on:-- “She has been traced, ma’am, to London, and to this house--this very floor--but no farther.” There was another ominous pause. Audrey merely bowed her head. She dared not speak. Then the man went on:-- “So we’ve been sent--among other things--to make inquiries, ma’am.” “Yes. Well.” “We understand, ma’am, that you are now Madame Rocada? That you call yourself by that name?” “It is a trade name only. I am not the woman of whom you are in search.” “So I understand, ma’am. But--h’m--we are led to believe that _you are the last person who saw her alive_!” Audrey uttered a low cry. “No, no,” she cried hoarsely. “I saw her alive, it’s true, but I was not the last person to see her.” The men looked at each other. “You admit you did see her, ma’am.” “Yes, but oh--let me----” She wanted to run to Gerard, to ask him to help her, to disentangle, if he could, the awful thoughts that crossed and recrossed each other in her poor distracted mind. But the men gravely, not rudely or aggressively, intervened. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You will have proper advice presently, no doubt. But we must ask you to come with us now. We have a warrant.” “A warrant! What for?” gasped Audrey. “For your arrest. On suspicion of causing the death of Madame Rocada.” CHAPTER XXI Audrey, when the blow had fallen, neither screamed nor fainted, nor even moved. She heard the man’s words with a dumb, awful consciousness that what she had dimly feared had happened, that the crime which had been committed within these rooms was now attributed to her.