"True," she answered. "But I was compelled to deceive you. I left you soon afterwards, for by Roesch's influence I became appointed English governess to the two youngest children of Prince Ferdinand, and it was while at Sofia that I suggested to the Minister of Finance the scheme for placing the concessions in the hands of Mr Heaton, whom I had heard was now suffering from an unaccountable loss of memory, and recollected nothing of the past. The subject was mooted to Prince Ferdinand, who in all good faith empowered me to treat with Mr Heaton, and before long several formidable concessions were floated in the City. The most remarkable thing was Mr Heaton's absolute ignorance of all the past. He was as wax in the hands of the two men who had become my masters. Only at the last coup, when they desired to raise a loan of half a million sterling, intending to appropriate it to their own uses, did he refuse to render us further assistance. It was as though his memory had suddenly returned to him, and he suspected." "My memory had then returned," I said briefly, marvelling at her remarkable narrative. "But what reason had the men in making those elaborate preparations for the assassination of the Prince?" "There were two reasons. One was that by the execution of the deed they were empowered to raise upon post-obits large sums, repayable when the young Prince came to the accession, and, secondly, they had found out that he had, by some means, discovered the huge defalcations which had been made in the Ministry of Finance at Sofia, and feared that he might expose them." "But you say that, although they had intention of assassinating him, they did not actually do so?" Hickman observed. "No. They were not the actual assassins." "Then who was?" demanded Mabel. The woman stood in silence, her lips hard-set, her face drawn. "The truth must be told," she said at last. "It is, I suppose, useless to try and conceal it now." And with a sudden movement she flung open the door leading to a small ante-chamber, crying in a hoarse, desperate voice-- "Enter! The guilty one is there?" We pressed forward, and there saw a thin grey-haired woman who had guilt written plainly upon her drawn white face. She had overheard all our conversation, and had been compelled to remain in that chamber, there being no outlet. "Joliot!" gasped Mabel, amazed. "My maid!" Then, addressing the cowering, trembling woman, she demanded the truth. We stood there astonished. There was a silence, long and painful. The contortions of the guilty woman's features were horrible; in her black eyes burned a fierce light, and she trembled in every limb.