ared not only to hear but criticize. As for Mr. Hedderwick, he
was so eager that he laid down the revolver on the table and leaned
forward on his elbows. To all appearance he might have been a boy
listening to a true yarn of pirates and savages.

Beatrice, without effort or hesitation, began to speak. A second
Scheherezade, she was fighting for her husband and her own freedom, and
everything conspired to lend her aid. She had a thrilling story to tell
at first hand; she had the dramatic instinct and an appreciative
audience. Not only Mr. Hedderwick but Lionel, too, listened with rapt
attention. The tale lived, as told by her, bearing the stamp of truth
and humor in every syllable her lips uttered. And Lionel, keeping guard
over himself with a loving suspicion, noticed that in no particulars did
she depart from the original version. He cursed himself that any shred
of doubt could still cling about him. Did any cling? Surely not, and
yet.... Pish! it was not merely disloyal--it was ludicrous: the two
stories were identical. Had the first been lies she must now have
betrayed herself.

Not that she told her story in such detail as she had to Lionel: there
was not time for that. The _precis_ of her life and adventures lasted no
more than half an hour: all that mattered was there, but the smaller
details were absent. A touch here, and the kidnaping was painted in a
dozen words; a line there, and she had swept them to Constantinople: a
paragraph depicted Lukos with a master hand--a few vivid sentences
described the flight. Then came the stage, her meeting with Lionel (five
pages to the rescue, the taxi deleted altogether, and three lines to the
dressing-room), and lastly, the treachery of Mizzi. She brought her
story down to the moment of their capture, not forgetting to tell how
they had effected their entrance by means of skeleton keys. "And that is
all," she said at last, drawing a breath of relief.

"Not quite all," said Mr. Hedderwick with rounded eyes. "Lord! what a
tale! what a life! Compared with this ..."--his eyes wandered
discontentedly round the room, and he did not finish the sentence. "But
go on--go on! Tell me why you hid the papers here."

"Partly by chance, partly design. I meant to hide them in a stranger's
house, thinking they would be safest there. One evening as I walked
this way I saw a machine in front of your door. It was a vacuum cleaner!
That decided me. It meant that after they had finished there