"If ye would like, it won't be a bit of trouble to show ye George Washington's room; or"—with inimitable Irish drollery—"I can tell ye that he dined in this very room."
"That will serve," smiled the girl; and Moriarty bowed himself out.
His departure was followed by the clatter of silver upon porcelain. Of a truth, both of us were hungry.
"I was simply ravenous," the girl confessed.
"And as for me, I never dreamt I could be so unromantic. Now," said I, pushing aside my plate, and dropping sugar into my coffee, and vainly hunting in my pockets for a cigar, "there remains only one mystery to be cleared up."
"And what might this mystery be?" she asked. "The whereabouts of the bogus Haggerty?"
"The bogus Haggerty will never cross our paths again. He has skipped by the light of the moon. No, that's not the mystery. Why did you tell me you were an impostor; why did you go to the cellars with me, when all the while you were at the ball on Mrs. Hyphen-Bonds' invitation?"
She leaned on her elbows and smiled at me humorously.
"Would you really like to know, Signor? Well, I was an impostor." She sat with her back to the fire, and a weird halo of light seemed to surround her and frame her. "Mrs. Hyphen-Bonds accidentally dropped that invitation in my studio, a few days before she sailed for Europe. I simply could not resist the temptation. That is all the mystery there is."
"And they still think you were there rightfully!"