t
accept any responsibility for that. How can I?"

CHAPTER XXVIII.

FURTHER ADMISSIONS.

"The secret of Digby Kemsley is still a secret, and will ever remain a
secret."

I recollected Mrs. Petre uttering those words to me as that dark-faced
villain Ali had forced my inert head down upon the table.

Well, that same night when I had begged of Edwards my love's life, I sat
in his room at Scotland Yard and there made a formal declaration of what
had happened to me on that well-remembered night outside Colchester. I
formally demanded the arrest of the woman, of Ali, and of the young
man-servant, all of whom had conspired to take my life.

The clerk calmly took down my statement, which Edwards read over to me,
and I duly signed it.

Then, gripping his hand, I went forth into Parliament Street, and took a
taxi to Cromwell Road.

I had not seen Phrida for several days, and she was delighted at my
visit.

She presented a pale, frail, little figure in her simple gown of pale
pink ninon, cut slightly open at the neck and girdled narrow with
turquoise blue. Her skirt was narrow, as was the mode, and her long
white arms were bare to the shoulders.

She had been curled up before the fire reading when I entered, but she
jumped up with an expression of welcome upon her lips.

But not until her mother had bade me good-night and discreetly withdrew,
did she refer to the subject which I knew obsessed her by night and by
day.

"Well, Teddy," she asked, when I sat alone with her upon the pale green
silk-covered couch, her little hand in mine, "Where have you been? Why
have you remained silent?"

"I've been in Brussels," I replied, and then, quite frankly, I explained
my quest after the impostor.

She sat looking straight before her, her eyes fixed like a person, in a
dream. At last she spoke:

"I thought," she said in a strained voice, "that you would have shown
greater respect for me than to do that--when you knew it would place you
in such great peril!"

"I have acted in your own interests, dearest," I replied, placing my arm
tenderly about her neck. "Ah! in what manner you will never know."

"My interests!" she echoed, in despair. "Have I not told you that on the
day Digby Kemsley is arrested I intend to end my life," and as she drew a
long breath, I saw in her eyes that haunted, terrified look which told me
that she was driven to desperation.

"No, no," I urged, stroking her hair with tenderness. "I know