"I don't want your money, Tom. It's so good of you; it's like you used to be, kind and generous. You always did give me lots of money, Tom, But--I don't want money--not now, Tom, not now." Something else was said, which stung her, for she clasped her hands in front of her, with a movement of pain. "I--didn't wish to make you angry, Tom--I'm--sure I didn't. Don't speak to me and look at me like that, don't, Tom, don't! You don't know how it hurts me, now--that I'm so tired. I'll go and fetch your money if you wish me--of course I will, if--you'll show me--where it is. I'll go at once. Upstairs? Yes, Tom--I don't think I'm--too tired to go upstairs, if--you'll come with me. Yes, Tom--I'm--going--now." The woman turned towards the door hastily. With a swift, eager gesture, in which there was something both mysterious and secretive, Ballingall addressed the four onlookers, the spellbound spectators of this, perhaps, unparelleled experience in the regions of experimental psychology. He spoke beneath his breath, hurriedly, hoarsely, with fugitive sidelong glances, as if before all things he was anxious that what he said should be heard by them alone. "He's going to show her where the fortune is!" The woman opened the door. CHAPTER XVII THE KEY TO THE PUZZLE She stood, for a second, with the handle of the open door in her grasp--as if she was glad of its support to aid her stand. Then, with a quick glance backwards, as of pleading to the one who exercised over her so strange a spell, she tottered from the room. She continued speaking as she went, as if deprecating the other's wrath. "I shall be all right--in a moment--if you don't--hurry me at first. I'm only slow because--I'm a little tired. It'll soon go, this tired feeling, Tom--and I'll be sure--to be quicker when it's gone." Ballingall hung back as she passed from the room, seeming, from his attitude, to be in two minds whether to follow her at all. The others, as if taking their cue from him, seemed hesitating too--until Madge, with head thrown back, and fists hanging clenched at her sides, went after her through the door. Then they moved close on Madge's heels--Bruce Graham in front, Ballingall bringing up the rear. The woman was staggering up the stairs, with obvious unwillingness--and, also, with more than sufficient feebleness. It was with difficulty she could lift her feet from step to step. Each time she raised her foot she gave a backward lurch, which threatened to precipitate her down the whole of the distance she had gained.