ow whether it was wise of me or not, but I am quite sure that I
saved your life."

"In which case," Vine remarked, with an incredulous smile, "I must at
least ask you to sit down."

Virginia seated herself and pushed back her veil.

"You do not remember me," she said. "I am Phineas Duge's niece."

"I remember you now quite well," he answered. "You were having dinner
with your uncle one night at Sherry's."

She nodded.

"That is quite true," she said. "I have been looking for you for some
days. In fact, I came to London to look for you."

"That," he remarked drily, "sounds somewhat mysterious, considering that
I have not yet had the pleasure of your acquaintance."

"There is nothing mysterious about it," she answered. "You are a
receiver of stolen goods. Some papers were stolen from my uncle's study
by Stella, my cousin, and given to you. They were stolen through my
carelessness. Unless I can recover them I am ruined."

"Go on," Morris Vine said. "You have not finished yet."

"No!" she answered, "I have not. I followed you to England to get those
papers back, either by theft, or by appealing to your sense of honour,
or by any means which presented themselves. I found by accident that I
was not the only American in London who was over here in search of you.
This afternoon I overheard part of a plot in a cafe in Regent Street
between two men, strangers to me, but who had both apparently made up
their minds that this particular paper was worth a little more than your
life. From them I heard your address. Your valet must be in their pay,
for they knew exactly your movements for the night. I heard them plan to
come here, and I knew what the end of that would be. I determined to
anticipate them. It was not out of any feeling for you, but simply
because if the paper got into their hands my cause was lost. So I came
on here to warn you, but I had scarcely entered your room before I was
aware that some one who had come with very different intentions was
already here. We waited--I in the sitting-room, he in that
bedroom--waited for you. I pretended to be unconscious of his existence.
He seemed to be content to ignore mine. While I was wondering how I
should warn you, the telephone bell rang. I answered it, and it was you
who spoke. Then I had the idea of carrying on some imaginary
conversation with you, which would induce the man who was listening to
go away. I did it and he went away. It must have sounded terrible
non