ourage faltering under the cool,
impersonal gaze.

"I do not know. My uncle has told you?"

"I--I think he did. But I've got a wretched memory when it comes to
broadswords."

She laughed. "This is such a very old broadsword, too," she said. "It
goes back beyond the memory of man."

"How does it come that you don't know the price?" he asked, watching her
narrowly. She met his inquiring look with perfect composure.

"I am quite new at the trade. I hope you will excuse my ignorance. My
uncle will be here in a moment." She was turning away with an air that
convinced King of one thing: she was a person who, in no sense, had ever
been called upon to serve others.

"So I've heard," he observed. The bait took effect. She looked up
quickly; he was confident that a startled expression flitted across her
face.

"You have heard? What have you heard of me?" she demanded.

"That you are new at the business," he replied coolly.

"You are a stranger in a strange land, so they say."

"You have been making inquiries?" she asked, disdain succeeding dismay.

"Tentatively, that's all. Ever since you peeked out of the window up
there and laughed at me. I'm curious, you see."

She stared at him in silent intensity for a moment. "That's why I
laughed at you. You were _very_ curious."

"Am I so bad as all that?" he lamented.

She ignored the question. "Why should you be interested in me, sir?"

Mr. King was inspired to fabricate in the interest of psychical
research. "Because I have heard that you are not the niece of old man
Spantz." He watched intently to catch the effect of the declaration.

She merely stared at him; there was not so much as the flutter of an
eyelid. "You have heard nothing of the kind," she said coldly.

"Well, I'll confess I haven't," he admitted cheerfully. "I was
experimenting. I'm an amateur Sherlock Holmes. It pleases me to deduce
that you are not related to the armourer. You don't look the part."

Now she smiled divinely. "And why not, pray? His sister was my mother."

"In order to establish a line on which to base my calculations, would
you mind telling me who your father is?" He asked the question with his
most appealing smile--a smile so frankly impudent that she could not
resent it.

"My mother's husband," she replied in the same spirit.

"Well, that is _quite_ a clue!" he exclaimed. "'Pon my soul, I believe
I'm on the right track. Excuse me for continuing, but is he a count or a
duke or