. "But, perhaps," he suggested, "if you stay, you may
find a back way to your object after all."

She shook her head. "It is the back way I tried. No, there is no way;
it is blocked. I know, because it is myself that blocks it."

"In that case," he said, "I'm afraid I must agree with you; there is
no way; oneself is about the most insurmountable block of all. I
might have known that you were hardly likely to make any mistake as to
whether you were really beaten or not."

"I should not think it was a mistake you were likely to make either,"
she observed.

"You think not? Well, I had no chance this time; the fact has been
made pretty obvious to me."

She did not say she was sorry; in her opinion it was an impertinence
to offer condolence to failure. "I suppose," she said, after a pause,
"there is not a back way--a door, or window, even, to your object?"

"Unfortunately, no. There are no windows at the back; and as to the
door--like you, it was that which I tried, with the result that
recently--yesterday, in fact--I was metaphorically shown out."

Julia had learnt enough by this time, though she had not been told for
certain, that her first suspicions were right; to be sure, it was the
explosive which took Rawson-Clew to the little village evening after
evening. She had gathered as much from various things which had been
said, though she did not know at all how he was trying to get it, nor
in what way he had introduced himself to Herr Van de Greutz. Whatever
method he had tried it was now clear he had failed; no doubt been
found out, for the chemist, unlike Joost Van Heigen, was the very
reverse of unsuspecting, and thoroughly on the look-out for other
nations who wanted to share his discovery. For a moment Julia wished
she had been in Rawson-Clew's place; of course she, too, might have
failed--probably would; she had no reason to think she would succeed
where he could not; but she certainly would not have failed in this
for the reason she had failed with the blue daffodil. The attempt
would have been so thoroughly well worth making; there would have been
some sport in it, and a foe worthy of her steel. In spite of her
desire for the simple life, she had too much real ability for this
sort of intrigue, and too much past practice in subterfuge, not to
experience lapses of inclination for it when she saw such work being
done, and perhaps not done well. Of this, however, she naturally did
not speak to Rawson-Clew; she