Not that there was anything in her appearance against her. On the contrary, she was a pleasant, smiling, rather pretty woman of perhaps thirty-five, who spoke with the air and manner of a lady, and who carried herself well, with the grace of one in a higher social circle. After a few moments' hesitation my curiosity got the better of my natural caution, and I determined to hear what she had to say. Therefore we drove together to the _Bath Hotel_. In her own private sitting-room, a cosy little apartment overlooking Piccadilly, opposite Dover Street, she removed her big black hat, drew off her gloves, and having invited me to a chair, took one herself on the opposite side of the fireplace. Her maid was there when we entered, but retired at word from her mistress. "You, of course, regard it as very curious, Mr Heaton, that after these six years I should again seek you," she commenced, leaning her arm lightly upon the little table, and gazing straight into my face without flinching. "It is true that once I was enabled to render you a service, and now in return I ask you also to render me one. Of course, it is useless to deny that a secret exists between us--a secret which, if revealed, would be disastrous." "To whom?" "To certain persons whose names need not be mentioned." "Why not?" "Think," she said, very gravely. "Did you not promise that, in return for your life when you were blind and helpless, you would make no effort to learn the true facts? It seems that you have already learnt at least one--the spot where the crime was committed." "I consider it my duty to learn what I can of this affair," I answered determinedly. She raised her eyebrows with an expression of surprise, for she saw that I was in earnest. "After your vow to me?" she asked. "Remember that, to acknowledge my indebtedness for that vow, I searched for the one specialist who could restore your sight. To my efforts, Mr Heaton, you are now in possession of that sense that was lost to you." "I acknowledge that freely," I answered. "Yet, even in that you have sought to deceive me." "How?" "You told me you were not the writer of those letters signed with a pseudonym." "And that is true. I was not the actual writer, even though I may have caused them to be written." "Having thus deceived me, how can you hope that I can be free with you?" "I regret," she answered, "that slight deception has been necessary to preserve the secret?" "The secret of the crime?" She nodded. "Well, and what do you wish to tell me this evening?" She was silent for a moment, toying with her rings. "I want to appeal to your generosity. I want you to assist me." "In what manner?" "As before." "As before!" I repeated, greatly surprised. "I have no knowledge of having assisted you before."