"Mr. Beale," she said, "will you give me straightforward answers to a
number of plain questions?"

He nodded.

"If I can," he said.

"Is the Herr Professor a friend of yours?"

"No--I know him and in a way I am sorry for him. He is a German who
pretends to be Russian. Immensely poor and unprepossessing to a painful
degree, but a very clever scientist. In fact, a truly great analytical
chemist who ought to be holding a good position. He told me that he had
the best qualifications, and I quite believe him, but that his physical
infirmities, his very freakishness had ruined him."

Her eyes softened with pity--the pity of the strong for the weak, of the
beautiful for the hideous.

"If that is true----" she began, and his chin went up. "I beg your
pardon, I know it is true. It is tragic, but--did you know him before
you met him in my room?"

He hesitated.

"I knew him both by repute and by sight," he said. "I knew the work he
was engaged on and I guessed why he was engaged. But I had never spoken
to him."

"Thank you--now for question number two. You needn't answer unless you
wish."

"I shan't," he said.

"That's frank, anyway. Now tell me, Mr. Beale, what is all this mystery
about? What is the Green Rust? Why do you pretend to be a--a drunkard
when you're not one?" (It needed some boldness to say this, and she
flushed with the effort to shape the sentence.) "Why are you always
around so providentially when you're needed, and," here she smiled (as
he thought) deliciously, "why weren't you round yesterday, when I was
nearly arrested for theft?"

He was back on the edge of the table, evidently his favourite
resting-place, she thought, and he ticked her questions off on his
fingers.

"Question number one cannot be answered. Question number two, why do I
pretend to be a--a drunkard?" he mimicked her audaciously. "There are
other things which intoxicate a man beside love and beer, Miss
Cresswell."

"How gross!" she protested. "What are they?"

"Work, the chase, scientific research and the first spring scent of the
hawthorn," he said solemnly. "As to the third question, why was I not
around when you were nearly arrested? Well, I was around. I was in your
flat when you came in and escaped along the fire parapet."

"Mr. Beale!" she gasped. "Then it was you--you are a detective!"

"I turned your desk and dressing-chest upside down? Yes, it was I," he
said without shame, ignoring the latter part of the sentence