“No doubt,” answered Sharpe, with a look of lofty elevation above her implied rebuke. “Now, miss, don’t please see more than is in my words. And don’t be afraid either. Remember, it is this Spanish gent, Mendes, and not either your Mr. or Mrs. Fair, that we are looking for.” “Thank God for that,” murmured Kate, beginning to break down visibly. Sharpe, on a wink from Ferret, waited a few seconds while Ferret fetched a glass of water, which the wretched girl drank eagerly—with a poor little smile of thanks that made the susceptible Ferret wish Mendes had never been born. This diversion greatly cleared the atmosphere at once. “Do you happen to know who Mendes is and why we want him?” asked the Inspector finally, with the air of a gossip rather than that of an inquisitor, which had the effect he desired, for Kate looked up fearlessly now. “I have no idea,” she answered promptly, glad to be able again to tell the truth. Then, adding with the former tone of apology to truth: “All I ask is that you send nobody to our house—now that Mr. Mendes has gone away from it. You won’t, will you? Please, please, do not!” “It would be nonsense to look for him when he’s gone, wouldn’t it?” laughed Sharpe. “And you know we never do nonsensical things when we know it. That will do, I think, miss. You may go, if you wish.” “Thank you, sir,” gasped Kate, with alacrity. “And don’t you see that if Mendes has committed some great crime he would be very likely to commit suicide? So I don’t see why you should think that—now, don’t laugh.” Her last words were addressed to Ferret, who did not know that she had an eye on him. When she closed the door and they heard her pass into the outer passage, it was with anything but a smile that Ferret looked up at his chief and said: “Well, by all that’s holy—did you ever?” CHAPTER VII Miss Mettleby took a cab and was soon stretched upon her bed more than ever torn and tortured by the perfect vortex of vague conjecture and too actual knowledge which now dragged her and the man she loved and her whole world down to some indefinite but certain ruin. In the meantime Inspector Sharpe disposed of two cases that had just been brought in, and then sending for Ferret, the two penetrating, cool, keen-scented gentlemen sat on opposite sides of the little table in the Inspector’s private office and discussed the rapidly developing situation. “But what the devil does it all mean?” inquired Sharpe, showing by his graver and tenser expression that the case was passing from an ordinary piece of blackmail, involving a few unimportant foreigners, to a very genuine mystery of much more serious aspect, involving not an English gentleman merely, but the particular English gentleman who was at that moment in the eye of the public.