of
demoniacal, while I stood glaring at her in blank dismay.

What did she mean? Aye, what, indeed?

CHAPTER XI.

IN WHICH AN ALLEGATION IS MADE.

I stood aghast at her words.

I strove to induce her to speak more openly, and to tell me why I should
not regard Phrida as my friend.

But she only laughed mysteriously, saying:

"Wait, and you will see."

"You make a distinct charge against her, therefore I think you ought to
substantiate it," I said in a tone of distinct annoyance.

"Ah! Mr. Royle. Heed my words, I beg of you."

"But, tell me, is Miss Shand the same person as you have denounced as
Digby's enemy?" I asked in breathless apprehension. "Surely you will tell
me, Mrs. Petre, now that we are friends."

"Ah! but are we friends?" she asked, looking at me strangely beneath the
light of the street-lamp in that deserted thoroughfare, where all was
silence save the distant hum of the traffic. The dark trees above stood
out distinct against the dull red night-glare of London, as the
mysterious woman stood before me uttering that query.

"Because we are mutual friends of Sir Digby's. I hope I may call you a
friend," I replied, as calmly as I was able.

She paused for a moment in indecision. Then she said:

"You admit that you are friendly with the girl Shand--eh?"

"Certainly."

"More than friendly, I wonder?" she asked in a sharp tone.

"Well--I'll be perfectly frank," was my answer. "I am engaged to be
married to her."

"Married," she gasped, "to her! Are you mad, Mr. Royle?"

"I think not," I answered, greatly surprised at her sudden attitude.
"Why?"

"Because--because," she replied in a low, earnest voice, scarce above a
whisper, "because, before you take such a step make further inquiry."

"Inquiry about what?" I demanded.

"About--well, about what has occurred at Harrington Gardens."

"Then you know!" I cried. "You know the truth, Mrs. Petre?"

"No," she replied quite calmly. "I know from this letter what must have
occurred there. But who killed the girl I cannot say."

"Who was the girl they found dead?" I asked breathlessly.

"Ah! How can I tell? I did not see her."

In a few quick words I described the deceased, but either she did not
recognise her from the description, or she refused to tell me. In any
case, she declared herself in ignorance.

The situation was galling and tantalising. I was so near discovering the
truth, and yet my inquiries had only plunged me more