said, 'that you went out of this house, just your usual self,
this afternoon, for a walk; that for some reason you went to
Widderstone--"to read the tombstones," that you had a heart
attack, or, as you said at first, a fit, that you fell into a
stupor, and came home like--like this. Am I likely to believe all
that? Am I likely to believe such a story as that? Whoever you
are, whoever you may be, is it likely? I am not in the least
afraid. I thought at first it was some silly practical joke. I
thought that at first.' She paused, but no answer came. 'Well, I
suppose in a civilised country there is a remedy even for a joke
as wicked as that.'

Lawford listened patiently. 'She is pretending; she is trying me;
she is feeling her way,' he kept repeating to himself. 'She knows
I AM I, but hasn't the courage... Let her talk!'

'I shall leave the door open,' Sheila continued. 'I am not, as
you no doubt very naturally assumed--I am not going to do
anything either senseless or heedless. I am merely going to ask
your brother Cecil to come in, if he is at home, and if not, no
doubt our old friend Mr. Montgomery would--would help us.' Her
scrutiny was still and concentrated, like that of a cat above a
mouse's hole.

Lawford sat crouched together in the candle-light. 'By all means,
Sheila,' he said slowly choosing his words, 'if you think poor
old Cecil, who next January will have been three years in his
grave, will be of any use in our difficulty. Who Mr. Montgomery
is...' His voice dropped in utter weariness. 'You did it very
well, my dear,' he added softly.