"As you are confident of the innocence of your friend Domville--eh?" he asked dubiously with a sarcastic smile. "Well," I said, desperately, "I am going now, at once, to see her. And if you leave the matter in my hands and promise that I shall not be followed, I, on my part, will promise that later she shall reply to any questions you may put to her." He was only half-convinced. "You take a great responsibility upon yourself, Mr Hughes," he remarked. "Why are you so anxious that this woman's whereabouts should not be known?" "To avoid a scandal," I said. "She is a gentlewoman." Pickering smiled again. "Well, Mr Hughes," he said with great reluctance, "that man Vickers has made a direct charge against her, and it must be investigated, as you quite understand, whether she be a gentlewoman or not. But I leave you to question her, on the understanding that you prevent her from warning the other two men still at liberty--Parham and Winsloe. Probably they will come here to-day to meet Vickers on his return from Germany--at any rate, we shall be here in waiting for them." What might not this terrible exposure mean to Sybil? CHAPTER THIRTY. IN WHICH SYBIL SPEAKS. Sybil saw me from the window as I walked up Neate Street at ten o'clock that morning. Then, letting myself in with the latchkey, I ascended the stairs, finding her as usual, fresh and dainty, although she was engaged in the prosaic operation of dusting the room. "Why, Wilfrid!" she gasped, "what's the matter? You're not well, surely!" she cried in anxiety, coming forward towards me. I threw my cap upon the couch, and halting upon the hearthrug, said in a low, serious voice,-- "Sybil, I think I may speak to you plainly, without preamble. I want to ask you a simple question. Who is Ralph Vickers?" The light died out of her face in an instant. She went pale and her white lips trembled at mention of that name. She was silent. She made no response. The blow that she had so long dreaded had fallen! "Tell me, Sybil," I urged in a low, kindly tone. "Who is this man?" "Ah! no, Wilfrid!" she gasped at last, her face cast down as though in shame. "Don't ask that. How--how can I, of all women, tell you?" "But you must," I said firmly. "All is known. The brutal devilish conspiracy of those men Parham, Winsloe and Vickers is exposed." "Exposed! Then they know about that--about that awful house in Clipstone Street?" she gasped, her eyes starting from her head in abject terror. "The horrible truth has been discovered. The police went to the house last night." "The police!" "Yes, and Vickers, who is under arrest, has denounced you as one of their accomplices. Tell me," I cried hoarsely, "tell me, Sybil, the real honest truth."