"I am naturally suspicious," he began abruptly; "and I doubted the woman
when I found that she kept her veil down. Besides, it was not in my
way of thinking to believe that an estimable married lady could have
compromised herself with a scoundrel, who had boasted that she was his
mistress. I waited in the street, until the woman came out. I followed
her, and saw her meet a man. The two went together to a theatre. I
took my place near them. She lifted her veil as a matter of course. My
suspicion of foul play was instantly confirmed. When the performance was
over, I traced her back to Mr. Robert Graywell's house. He and his wife
were both absent at a party. I was too indignant to wait till they
came back. Under the threat of charging the wretch with stealing her
mistress's clothes, I extorted from her the signed confession which you
have in your hand. She was under notice to leave her place for insolent
behaviour. The personation which had been intended to deceive me, was
an act of revenge; planned between herself and the blackguard who had
employed her to make his lie look like truth. A more shameless creature
I never met with. She said to me, 'I am as tall as my mistress, and
a better figure; and I've often worn her fine clothes on holiday
occasions.' In your country Mr. Mool, such women--so I am told--are
ducked in a pond. There is one thing more to add, before you read the
confession. Mrs. Robert Graywell did imprudently send the man some
money--in answer to a begging letter artfully enough written to excite
her pity. A second application was refused by her husband. What followed
on that, you know already."

Having read the confession, Mr. Mool was permitted to take a copy, and
to make any use of it which he might think desirable. His one remaining
anxiety was to hear what had become of the person who had planned the
deception. "Surely," he said, "that villain has not escaped punishment?"

Baccani answered this in his own bitter way.

"My dear sir, how can you ask such a simple question? That sort of
man always escapes punishment. In the last extreme of poverty his luck
provides him with somebody to cheat. Common respect for Mrs. Robert
Graywell closed my lips; and I was the only person acquainted with
the circumstances. I wrote to our club declaring the fellow to be a
cheat--and leaving it to be inferred that he cheated at cards. He
knew better than to insist on my explaining myself--he resigned, and
disappeared.