'But at least you will tell me what I am supposed to have said.'

Alma hesitated, and only after several interchanges of question and answer did the full extent of her accusation appear. Thereupon Mrs Strangeways smiled, as if with forbearance.

'Now I understand. But I have been cruelly misrepresented. I heard such a rumour, and I did my best to contradict it. I heard it, unfortunately, more than once.'

Again Alma found herself in conflict with an adroitness, a self-possession, so much beyond her own, that the sense of being maliciously played with goaded her into rage.

'No one but yourself could ever have started such a story!'

'You mean,' sounded the other voice, still soft, though not quite so amiable, 'that I was the only person who knew----'

And there Mrs. Strangeways paused, as if discreetly.

'Knew? Knew what?'

'Only that you had reason for a little spite against your dear friend.'

'Suppose it was so,' exclaimed Alma, remembering too well her last conversation with this woman. 'Whatever you knew, or thought you knew, about me--and it was little enough--you have been making use of it disgracefully.'

'You say I knew very little,' put in the other, turning a ring upon her hand; 'but you will admit that it was enough to excite my curiosity.

May I not have taken trouble to learn more?'

'Any amount of trouble would have taught you nothing; there was nothing to discover. And that you know as well as I do.'

Mrs. Strangeways moved her head, as if in good-natured acquiescence.

'Don't let us be harsh with each other, my dear. We have both had our worries and trials in consequence of that unfortunate affair. You, I can see, have gone through a good deal; I a.s.sure you, so have I. But oughtn't you to remember that our misfortunes were caused by the same person? If I----'

'Your misfortunes are nothing to me. And I shouldn't think you would care to talk about them.'

'Surely I might say the same to you, my dear Alma? Is there very much to choose between us?'

Alma flushed with resentment, but had no word ready on her parched tongue. The other went on in an unbroken flow of mocking good humour.

'We ought to be the best of friends. I haven't the least wish to do you harm, and nothing would please me better than to gratify your little feeling against a certain person. I may be able to manage that. Let me tell you something--of course in the strictest confidence.' Her voice was playful for a moment. 'I have been trying to find someone--you know who I mean--who mysteriously disappeared. That interests you, I see.

It's very difficult; such people don't let themselves be dropped upon by chance a second time. But, do you know, I have something very like a clue, at last. Yes'--she nodded familiarly--'I have.'

In vain Alma tried to lock her lips.

'What if you find her?'

'Do you forget that someone will very soon be at large again, and that someone's wife, a very clever woman, counts on deceiving the world as she deceived _him_?'

'You are sure she _did_ deceive him?'

Mrs. Strangeways laughed.

'You are acute, my dear. You see the puzzle from all sides. But I won't go into that just now. What I want to show you is, that our interests are the same. We should both dearly like to see a certain person shown up. I begin to see my way to do it very thoroughly. It would delight you if I were at liberty to tell what I actually _have_ got hold of, but you must wait a little. My worst difficulty, now, is want of money.

People have to be bought, you know, and I am not rich----. Don't you think you could help a little?'

The question came out with smooth abruptness, accompanied by a look which startled the hearer.

'I? I have no money.'

'What an idea!'

'I tell you I haven't a penny of my own!'

'My dear Alma, you have obliging bankers. One of them is doing very well indeed. You didn't go to his wedding?'

Alma felt a chill of fear. The woman's eyes seemed to cast a net about her, and to watch her struggle as it tightened.

'I don't understand you. I have nothing to do with your plots.'

She strung her muscles and stood up; but Mrs. Strangeways, scarcely moving, still looked at her with baleful directness.

'It would be a shame to lose our sport for want of a little money. I must ask you to help, really.'

'I can't--and won't.'

'I feel sure you will--rather than have anything happen. You are leading, I hear, a most exemplary life; I should be so sorry to disturb it. But really, you _must_ help in our undertaking.'

There was a very short silence.

'A week, even a fortnight hence, will do. No great sum; two or three hundred pounds. We won't say any more about it; I depend upon you. In a fortnight's time will do.'

'Do you imagine,' exclaimed Alma, on a high, quivering note, 'that I am in your power?'

'Hush! It is very dangerous to talk like that in a hotel.--Think over what I have said. You will find me here. Think, and remember. You will be quite satisfied with the results, but your help is indispensable.'

Therewith Mrs. Strangeways turned to the open window. Looking at her elaborately plaited yellow hair, her thin neck, her delicate fingers just touching the long throat, Alma felt instinct of savagery; in a flash of the primitive mind, she saw herself spring upon her enemy, tear, bite, destroy. The desire still shook her as she stood outside in the corridor, waiting to descend. And in the street she walked like a somnambulist, with wide eyes, straight on. Curious glances at length recalled her to herself; she turned hurriedly from the crowded highway.

Before reaching home, she had surveyed her position, searched her memory. 'The wretch is counting on my weakness. Knowing she can do nothing, she thinks I shall be frightened by the threat. Money? And perhaps all she said only a lie to tempt me! Let her do her worst--and that will be nothing.'

And by this she held, letting the days go by. The fortnight pa.s.sed. She was ill with apprehension, with suspense; but nothing happened. Three weeks, and nothing happened. Then Alma laughed, and went about the house singing her deliverance.

On that day, Mrs. Strangeways sat talking with Mrs. Carnaby, in the latter's drawing-room. Her manner was deferential, but that of a friend. Sibyl, queening it at some distance, had the air of conferring a favour as she listened.

'I haven't the least doubt that I shall soon lay my hand upon her. I have had an answer to my last advertis.e.m.e.nt.'

'Then let me see it,' replied Sibyl coldly.

'Impossible. I put myself in a position of much danger. I dare not trust even you, Mrs. Carnaby.'

'Very well. You know my promise. Get her into the hands of the police, and your reward is waiting.'

'But I may lose my opportunity, for want of money. If you would trust me with only--say a hundred pounds.'