"I have every reason to remember it."

"Your sister was here then."

"You saw her?"

"I heard her."

"You heard _a_ woman."

"It was your sister or yourself."

"Or one of a million others."

Nigel thumped out his points on the top of a revolving bookcase.

"I had the house watched. No woman entered or left till yesterday.

Barring two nurses, and they're accounted for. You or your sister must have left here yesterday."

"And not come back?"

"No."

"Well, that makes it much easier, doesn't it? If one went out and never came back, and you find the other here the following day, it looks ... I mean to say, a perfectly impartial outsider might think, that it was my sister who got away and I who remained behind."

"Exactly. And it's on the same simple reasoning that Aintree will be arrested."

Nigel crooked his umbrella over his arm and slowly drew on his gloves.

It was a moment of exquisite, manifest triumph. Elsie stood disarmed and helpless; Sylvia was too proud to ask terms of such a conqueror.

"All the same, what a pity you didn't come before the bird was flown!" Elsie suggested with the sole idea of gaining time.

"It's something to have found Aintree at home," Nigel returned.

"And you're going to arrest him for harbouring my sister?" Elsie walked into the hall and stood with her fingers on the handle of the door. Her heart was beating so fast that she felt sure she must be betraying emotion in her face. There was only one way of saving the Seraph, and she had resolved to take it. That it involved the immediate and irrevocable sacrifice of her reputation did not disturb her: she was filled with pity and doubt--pity for Sylvia, and doubt whether Nigel would accept her sacrifice. "I suppose--you're quite certain--he wasn't harbouring--_me_?"

Nigel's unimaginative mind hardly weighed the possibility.

"There's no warrant against you."

"Fortunately not."

"Then why should he harbour you?"

Elsie waited till her lips and voice were under control. Then she turned away from Sylvia and faced him with the steadiness of desperation.

"It's a very wicked world, Mr. Rawnsley."

There was a moment's silence: then Sylvia leapt to her feet with cheeks aflame.

"D'you mean you were here the whole time?"

"Some one was. Ask Mr. Rawnsley."

"Were you?"

"D'you think it likely?"

"How should I know?"

Elsie hardened her heart to play the unwelcome role to its bitter end.

"You know my character, you've not had time to forget my divorce or the way I thrust myself under the noses of respectable people. Have I got much more bloom to lose?"

"It's not true! The Seraph ... he _wouldn't_!"

"You used to see us about together."

"There's nothing in that!"

"Enough to make you cut him at Henley." Each fresh word fell like a lash across Sylvia's cheeks, but as long as Nigel dawdled irresolutely at the door it was impossible to end the torture.

"_Will_ you say whether you were here the whole time?" she demanded of Elsie.

"'Course she wasn't," Nigel struck in. "There are convenances even in this kind of life. Merivale was here the whole time."

"_Was_ he?" Elsie asked. Every new question seemed to suck her deeper down.

"I have his word and the evidence of my own eyes."

"You know he was actually living here? Not merely dropping in from time to time? It's important, my reputation seems to hang on it. If I was the woman Lord Gartside found, and Mr. Merivale didn't happen to be living here to chaperon us, the Seraph couldn't have been harbouring my sister, but it's good-bye to the remains of my good name. And if Mr. Merivale _was_ here, I couldn't have been living here too, and the Seraph may have harboured one criminal or fifty. Which was it? I don't like to guess. Mr. Rawnsley, just tell me confidentially what you believe yourself."

Nigel bowed stiffly and prepared to leave the room.

"As the conduct of the case is not in my hands," he answered loftily, "my opinion is of no moment."

Elsie held the door open for him, shaking her head and smiling mischievously to herself.

"So there's nothing for it but a general arrest? Well, _che sera sera_: I suppose it'll be all over in a week or two, and then we shall be let out in time to see the fun. It'll be worth it. I wish women were admitted to your Club, it 'ud be so amusing to hear your friends chaffing you about your great mare's nest. 'Well, Rawnsley, what's this I hear about your giving up politics and going to Scotland Yard?'

Men are such cats, aren't they? Every one would start teasing you at the House, the thing 'ud get into the papers, they'd hear of it in your constituency. Can you picture yourself addressing a big meeting and being heckled? A woman getting up and asking how you crushed the great militant movement and brought all the ringleaders to book? One or two people would laugh gently, and the laughter would spread and grow louder as every one joined in. They'd laugh at you in private houses and clubs, and the House of Commons. They'd laugh at you in the streets. Funny men with red noses and comic little hats would come on at the music halls and imitate you. They'd laugh and laugh till their sides ached and the tears streamed down their cheeks, and you'd try to live it down and find you couldn't, and in the end you'd have to leave England and live abroad, until they'd found something else to laugh at. You're going? Not arresting us now? Oh, of course, you haven't got the proper warrant. Well, I expect we shall be here when you come back. Good-bye, and good luck to you in your new career!"

The door closed heavily behind his indignant back, and Elsie turned a little wearily to Sylvia, bracing herself for an explanation that would be as hard as her recent battle. The mockery had died out of her voice and the laughter out of her eyes.

"Shall I go and see if the Seraph's awake yet?" she temporised, "or would you prefer to leave a message?"

Sylvia tried to speak, but no words would come--only a dry, choking sob of utter misery and disillusionment. With hasty steps she crossed to the door and fumbled blindly for the handle.

"Miss Roden! Sylvia!"