He shrugged his shoulders.

"It seems to me," he answered, "that I might more fittingly assume the
role of questioner. However, I have no objection to introduce myself. My
name is Herbert Wrayson. May I ask," he continued with quiet sarcasm, "to
what I am indebted for this unexpected visit?"

She was silent for a moment, and as he watched her his surprise grew.
Equivocal though her position was, he knew very well that this was no
ordinary thief whom he had surprised in his rooms, engaged to all
appearance in rifling his desk. The fact that she was a beautiful woman
was one which he scarcely took into account. There were other things more
surprising which he could not ignore. Her evening dress of black net was
faultlessly made, and he knew enough of such things to be well aware that
it came from the hands of no ordinary dressmaker. A string of pearls, her
only ornament, hung from her neck, and her black hat with its drooping
feathers was the fellow of one which he had admired a few evenings ago at
the Ritz in Paris. It flashed upon him that this was a woman of
distinction, one who belonged naturally, if not in effect, to the world
of which even he could not claim to be a habitant. What was she doing in
his rooms?--of what interest to her were he and his few possessions?

"Herbert Wrayson," she repeated, leaning a little towards him. "If your
name is Herbert Wrayson, what are you doing in these rooms?"

"They happen to be mine," he answered calmly.

"Yours!"