you answer me one? Why did you tell us your name was Charley Wright?"

"I knew a man of that name once," he answered. "He's dead now."

"I thought perhaps," she said slowly and quite calmly, "that it was
because you had seen the name written on a photograph in my room."

"No, it wasn't that," he answered gravely, and his doubts that for
a moment had seemed so terribly confirmed, now came back again, for
though she had said that she knew of the contents of the
packing-case, yet, if that were really so, how was it conceivable
that she should speak of such a thing so calmly?

And yet again, if she could do it, perhaps also she could talk of
it without emotion. Once more there was fear in his eyes as he
watched her, and her own were troubled and doubtful.

"Why do you have all that hair on your face?" she asked.

"Well, why shouldn't I?" he retorted. "It saves trouble."

"Does it?" she said. "Do you know what it looks like--like a
disguise?"

"A disguise?" he repeated. "Why should I want a disguise?"

"Do you think I'm quite a fool because I'm a woman?" she asked
impatiently. "Do you suppose I couldn't see very well when you
came that night that you were not an ordinary burglar? You had
some reason of your own for breaking into this house. What was