words.

"Ah! yes," she cried. "He urged you not to misjudge me. Then you will
not, Mr. Royle--will you?" she asked me with sudden earnestness.

"I have no reason to misjudge you, Mrs. Petre," I said, quietly. "Why
should I?"

"Ah! but you may. Indeed, you most certainly will."

"When?" I asked, in some surprise.

"When--when you know the bitter truth."

"The truth of what?" I gasped, my thoughts reverting to the tragedy in
Harrington Gardens. Though I had not referred to it I felt that she must
be aware of what had occurred, and of the real reason of Digby's flight.

"The truth which you must know ere long," she answered hoarsely as we
halted again beneath the leafless trees. "And when you learn it you will
most certainly condemn me. But believe me, Mr. Royle, I am like your
friend, Sir Digby, more sinned against than sinning."

"You speak in enigmas," I said.

"Because I cannot--I dare not tell you what I know. I dare not reveal the
terrible and astounding secret entrusted to me. You will know it all soon
enough. But--there," she added in a voice broken in despair, "what can
matter now that Digby has shown the white feather--and fled."

"He was not a coward, Mrs. Petre," I remarked very calmly.

"No. He was a brave and honest man until----" and she paused, her low
voice fading to a whisper that I did not catch.

"Until what?" I asked. "Did something happen?"

"Yes, it did," she replied in a hard, dry tone. "Something happened which
changed his life."

"Then he is not the impostor the police believe?" I demanded.

"Certainly not," was her prompt reply. "Why he has thought fit to
disappear fills me with anger. And yet--yet from this letter he has sent
to me I can now see the reason. He was, no doubt, compelled to fly, poor
fellow. His enemy forced him to do so."

"The woman--eh?"

"Yes, the woman," she admitted, bitter hatred in her voice.

Then, after a pause, I said: "If I can be of any service to you, Mrs.
Petre, for we are both friends of Digby's, I trust you will not fail to
command me."

And I handed her a card from my case, which I had carried expressly.

"You are very kind, Mr. Royle," she replied. "Perhaps I may be very glad
of your services one day. Who knows? I live at Park Mansions."

"And may I call?"

"For the present, no. I let my flat while I went abroad, and it is still
occupied for several weeks. I shall not be there before the first week in
March."

"But I want to find Digb