t the
washstand with an air of composure that she did not altogether feel.
What was the Adventurer going to do? True, she need have no fear of
personal violence--she had only to disclose herself. But--but there were
other considerations. She saw that reckoning of her own with Danglar at
an end, though--yes!--perhaps the Adventurer would become her ally in
that matter. But, then, there was something else. The Adventurer was
a thief, and she could not let him get away with those packages of
banknotes up there behind the trap-door in the ceiling, if she could
help it. That was perhaps what he had come for, and--and--Her mind
seemed to tumble into chaos. She did not know what to do. She stared at
the Adventurer. He was still dressed as the Pug, though the eye-patch
was gone, and there was no longer any sign of the artificial facial
disfigurements.

The Adventurer spoke again.

"Won't you sit down--Mrs. Danglar?" He pushed the single chair the
garret possessed toward her--and shrugged his shoulders as she
remained motionless. "You'll pardon me, then, if I sit down myself."
He appropriated the chair, and faced them, his revolver dangling
with ominous carelessness in his hand. "I've had a rather upsetting
experience this evening, and I am afraid I am still a little the worse
for it--as perhaps you know, Danglar?"

"You damned traitor!" Danglar burst out wildly. "I--I--"

"Quite so!" said the Adventurer smoothly. "But we'll get to that in a
minute. Do you mind if I inflict a little story on you? I promise you
it won't take long. It's a little personal history which I think will
be interesting to you both; but, in any case, as my hosts, I am sure you
will be polite enough to listen. It concerns the murder of a man named
Deemer; but in order that you may understand my interest in the matter,
I must go back quite a little further. Perhaps I even ought to introduce
myself. My name, my real name, you know, is David Holt. My father was
in the American Consular service in India when I was about ten. He
eventually left it and went into business there through the advice of a
very warm friend of his, a certain very rich and very powerful rajah
in the State of Chota Nagpur in the Province of Bengal, where we then
lived. I became an equally intimate friend of the rajah's son, and--do I
bore you, Danglar?"

Danglar was like a crouched animal, his head drawn into his shoulders,
his hands behind him with fingers twisting and gripping at