“Thanks, brothers,” the Chief said. “By a strange coincidence I know this lady--this woman, and I feel convinced that it will be better, in the interests of our cause, if--if I examine her alone.” He spoke with authority, and yet with a certain queer hesitation. The two men silently, but with obvious reluctance, rose and left the room. When they were alone, the great singer and the Chief fronted each other in silence. “Well?” said Vesea. “Madame,” the Chief began slowly and thoughtfully. “Do you remember singing in Milan ten years ago? You were at the beginning of your career then, but already famous.” His voice was rich and curiously persuasive. Without wishing to do so, Vesea nodded an affirmative. “One night you were driving home from the opera, and there was a riot going on in the streets. The police were everywhere. People whispered of a secret revolutionary society among the students of the University. As for the students, after a pitched battle near the Cathedral, they were flying. Suddenly, looking from your carriage, you saw a very youthful student, who had been struck on the head, fall down in the gutter and then get up again and struggle on. You stopped your carriage. ‘Save me,’ the youth cried, ‘Save me, Signorina. If the police catch me I shall get ten years’ imprisonment!’ You opened the door of your carriage, and the youth jumped in. ‘Quick, under the rug,’ you said quietly. You did not ask me any questions. You didn’t stay to consider whether the youth might be a dangerous person. You merely said, ‘Quick, under the rug!’ The youth crept under the rug. The carriage moved on slowly, and the police, who shortly appeared, never thought of looking within it for a fugitive young anarchist. The youth was saved. For two days you had him in your lodging, and then he got safely away to the coast, and so by ship to another country. Do you remember that incident, Madame?” “I remember it well,” she answered. “What happened to the youth?” “I am he,” the Chief said. “You?” she exclaimed. “I should scarcely have guessed but for your voice. You are changed.” “In our profession one changes quickly.” “Why do you remind me of that incident?” she asked. “You saved my life then. I shall save yours now.” “Is my life really in danger?” “Unless you joined us--yes.” She laughed incredulously. “In London! Impossible!” He made a gesture with his hands. “Do not let us argue on that point,” he said gravely. “Go through that door,” he pointed to the door by which he himself had entered. “You will find yourself in a small garden. The garden gate leads to a narrow passage past some stables and so into the street. Go quickly, and take a cab. Don’t return to your own house. Go somewhere else--anywhere else. And leave London early to-morrow morning.” He silently opened the door for her. “Thank you,” she said. His seriousness had affected her. “How shall you explain my departure to your--your friends?”