ascent, I had noted that it was that numbered forty-eight which she
had been about to open.

"You waste words," I said grimly. "Who lives there?"

I nodded in the direction of the doorway. The violet eyes watched
me with an expression in their depths which I find myself wholly
unable to describe. Fear predominated, but there was anger, too,
and with it a sort of entreaty which almost made me regret that I
had taken this task upon myself. From beneath the shabby black hat
escaped an errant lock of wavy hair wholly inconsistent with the
assumed appearance of the woman. The flickering gaslight on the
landing sought out in that wonderful hair shades which seemed to
glow with the soft light seen in the heart of a rose. The thick
veil was raised now and all attempts at deception abandoned. At
bay she faced me, this secret woman whom I knew to hold the key to
some of the darkest places which we sought to explore.

"I live there," she said slowly. "What do you want with me?"

"I want to know," I replied, "for whom are those provisions in
your basket?"

She watched me fixedly.

"And I want to know," I continued, "something that only you can
tell me. We have met before, madam, but you have always eluded me.
This time you shall not do so. There's much I have to ask of you,
but particularly I want to know who killed the Hashishin who lies
dead at no great distance from here!"

"How can I tell you that? Of what are you speaking?"

Her voice was low and musical; that of a cultured woman. She
evidently recognized the futility of further subterfuge in this
respect.

"You know quite well of what I am speaking! You know that you
can tell me if any one can! The fact that you go disguised alone
condemns you! Why should I remind you of our previous meetings--of
the links which bind you to the history of the Prophet's slipper?"
She shuddered and closed her eyes. "Your present attitude is a
sufficient admission!"

She stood silent before me, with something pitiful in her pose--a
wonderfully pretty woman, whose disarranged hair and dilapidated hat
could not mar her beauty; whose clumsy, ill-fitting garments could
not conceal her lithe grace.

Our altercation had not thus far served to arouse any of the
inhabitants and on that stuffy landing, beneath the flickering
gaslight, we stood alone, a group of two which epitomized strange
things.

Then, with that quietly dramatic note which marks real life entrances
a