The cloth was removed at length, and Vesea found herself in a long bare room, furnished only with chairs and a table. She realised that the carriage accident was merely part of a plot to capture her without fuss and violence. She was incapable of fear, but she was extremely annoyed and indignant. She looked round for the man who enticed her into his brougham. He was not to be seen; his share of the matter was over. Two other men sat at the table. Vesea stared at them in speechless anger. As to them, they seemed to ignore her. “Where is the Chief?” said one to the other. “He will be here in three minutes. We are to proceed with the examination; time is short.” Then the two men turned to Vesea, and the elder spoke. “You will be anxious to know why you are here,” he said. She gazed at him scornfully, and he continued: “You are here because you have betrayed the anarchist cause.” “I am not an anarchist,” she said coldly. “Admitted. But a week ago a member of our society gave you a warning to keep away from the Opera House to-night. In so warning you he was false to his oath----” “Do you refer to Salti, the tenor?” she asked. “I do. You perceive we have adherents in high places. Salti, then, warned you--and you instantly told the police. That was your idea of gratitude. Did Salti love you?” “I decline to be cross-examined.” “It is immaterial. We know that he loved you. Now it is perilous for an anarchist to love.” “I do not believe that Salti is one of you,” she broke in. “He is not,” the man said quietly. “He is dead. He was in the way.” In spite of herself she started, and both men smiled cynically. “The point is this,” the elder man proceeded. “We do not know how much Salti told you. It is possible that he may have blurted out other and more important--er--schemes than this of the Opera House which has failed. Have you anything to say?” “Nothing,” she answered. “Ah! We expected that. Now, let me point out that you are dangerous to us, that there is only one possible course open to you. You must join us.” “Join you?” she exclaimed, and then laughed. “Yes,” the man said. “I repeat there is no alternative--none whatever. You must take the oaths.” “And if I refuse?” The man shrugged his shoulders, and after a suggestive pause murmured: “Well--think of Salti.” “I do refuse,” she said. A door opened at the other end of the room, and a third man entered. “The Chief!” said the younger of the men at the table. “He will continue the examination.” The new-comer was comparatively youthful--under thirty--and had the look of a well-born Italian. He gave a glance at Vesea, stood still, and then approached the table and sat down. “This is Louise Vesea,” the first speaker said, and rapidly indicated how far he had gone. There was a long silence.