The discovery that the mysterious woman--whose name she had withheld from me--was actually a secret agent of the autonomous Principality created by the Berlin Treaty--that turbulent State mostly notable for the assassination of its Ministers--was entirely unlooked for. On the night when accident had thrown us together, and she had smoothed my brow with her cool hand, I had believed her to be a young girl who had taken pity upon me in my helplessness; but the revelations she had made during that half-hour showed that there had been some firm purpose underlying it all. She alone knew the truth of that tragic occurrence at The Boltons, and I saw that in this matter I had to deal with a very clever and ingenious woman. I had now a double purpose in life--to discover Mabel, and to elucidate the mystery of the crime. Towards that end I intended to strive, and as I sat with my glance fixed upon those mysterious grey eyes, I endeavoured to form some plan of action. "Madam," I said gravely, at last, "as you appear not to place sufficient confidence in me to tell me your name, I regret that I can place no confidence in these documents." "My name!" she laughed. "Ah, of course; I had quite forgotten. There is no secret about it;" and from her purse she drew forth a folded, much-worn blue paper, which she handed to me. It was an English passport, bearing the name of "Lucy Edna Grainger." "Grainger?" I repeated. "Then you are English?" "Yes, I am legally a British subject, because my father was English. I was, however, born abroad." A silence fell between us. The roar of the traffic in Piccadilly came up from below; the summer night was warm, and the window stood open. At last I determined upon a bold course. "Now that we have met," I said, "I wish to ask you one or two questions. First, I am desirous of knowing the whereabouts of Mrs Anson and her daughter." I was watching her narrowly, and saw her give a distinct start at my mention of the same. Next instant, however, she recovered herself, and with marvellous tact repeated-- "Anson? Anson? I have no acquaintance with any person of that name." I smiled. "I think it unnecessary that you should deny this, when the truth is so very plain," I observed sarcastically. "You will, perhaps, next deny that a young man was foully murdered within that house in The Boltons; that you were present, and that you are aware of the identity of those who committed the crime?" The pallor of her cheeks showed plainly that I had recalled unwelcome memories. "The unfortunate affair is all of the past," she said hoarsely. "Why need we discuss it?" "In the interests of justice," I answered, with firm determination. "Have you not agreed to remain silent? Have you not, as recompense, received back your sight, and become enriched beyond your wildest dreams? Surely you, at least, should not complain."