"I complain of the manner in which the secret of the crime has been preserved," I said. "I have determined, however, that it shall remain secret no longer." "You would inform the police!" she gasped, for the moment unable to conceal her alarm. "If you have no knowledge of Mrs Anson, then I intend to invoke the aid of Scotland Yard in order to discover her." My words perplexed her. That she was acquainted with the Ansons I had no doubt, and I was likewise certain that she would never risk information being given to the police. More than once in the days long past I had entertained a shrewd suspicion that she herself was the actual murderer of that young unknown man. I looked at her pale face, and vaguely wondered again whether such were the truth. The fact that she had secured my silence in return for my life as an outcome of that most ingenious conspiracy had seemed to me proof conclusive of her guilt, and now that we had met in those strange circumstances the idea became impressed upon me more forcibly than ever. What might be her real position in the secret diplomacy of Bulgaria I knew not. It was evident that considerable confidence was reposed in her. She had come to me with a cool demand to raise a loan of half a million sterling, and it was plain from what she had explained that the money was urgently needed for the protection of the State against enemies both internal and external. My own position was unique. Had not Gedge shown me those official documents, which gave me concessions in the Principality of Bulgaria, I should have laughed this woman's curious story to scorn as a piece of impossible fiction. But I had glanced over some of those papers at Denbury, and was satisfied that I had actually had many dealings with that State during the six years of my unconscious but prosperous existence. There seemed every truth in her statement that to her had been due my success in the City in the first instance. "And supposing you broke your promise and went to Scotland Yard?" she suggested at length, her eyes still fixed upon me. "What would you expect to find?" "To find?" I echoed. "I should find traces of the crime within that room." She nodded. I had expected my words to have some confusing effect upon her, nevertheless, on the contrary, she remained perfectly calm. Her self-control was extraordinary. "And what would it profit you, pray?" she asked. "I should at least know that I had endeavoured to bring to justice those responsible for the poor fellow's death." "It would only be an endeavour--a vain one, I assure you." "You mean that the secret is too well concealed ever to be revealed," I observed quickly. "Yes," she said; "you have guessed aright." "And, in other words, you defy me to discover the truth?" "I have not said so. The word defy is scarcely one which should be used between us, I think, considering that our interests are to-day mutual-- just as they were on the night of the crime."