d taken leave, Dymes followed her. He came
up to her side at a few yards from the house, and they walked together,
without speaking, until Alma turned into the first quiet street.

'I give you my word,' she began, 'that I know nothing whatever about
that paper.'

'I believe you, and I'm sorry I made a row,' Dymes replied. 'There's no
harm done. I dare say I shall be hearing more about it.'

'I have some photographs here,' said Alma, touching her sealskin bag.
'Will you take them?'

'Thanks. But there's a whole lot of things to be arranged. We can't
talk here. Let's go to my rooms.'

He spoke as though nothing were more natural. Alma, the blood throbbing
at her temples, saw him beckon a crawling hansom.

'I can't come--now. I have a dreadful headache.'

'You only want to be quiet. Come along.'

The hansom had pulled up. Alma, ashamed to resist under the eyes of the
driver, stepped in, and her companion placed himself at her side. As
soon as they drove away he caught her hand and held it tightly.

'I can't go to your rooms,' said Alma, after a useless resistance. 'My
head is terrible. Tell me whatever you have to say, and then take me to
Baker Street Station. I'll see you again in a day or two.'

She did not feign the headache. It had been coming on since she left
home, and was now so severe that her eyes closed under the torture of
the daylight.

'A little rest and you'll be all right,' said Dymes.

Five minutes more would bring them to their destination. Alma pulled
away her hand violently.

'If you don't stop him, I shall.'

'You mean it? As you please. You know what I----'

Alma raised herself, drew the cabman's attention, and bade him drive to
Baker Street. There was a short silence, Dymes glaring and muttering
inarticulately.

'Of course, if you really have a bad headache,' he growled at length.

'Indeed I have--and you treat me very unkindly.'

'Hang it, Alma, don't speak like that! As if I _could_ be unkind to
you!'

He secured her hand again, and she did not resist. Then they talked of
business, settled one or two matters, appointed another meeting. As
they drew near to the station, Alma spoke impulsively, with a
bewildered look.

'I shouldn't wonder if I give it up, after all.'

'Rot!' was her companion's amazed exclamation.

'I might. I won't answer for it. And it would be your fault.'

Stricken with alarm, Dymes poured forth assurances of his good
behaviour. He followed her down t