"Yes," with a sudden start.
"It's the muzzle of a revolver. I think it's about opposite your heart and my finger is on the trigger. Go ahead!"
He turned the throttle and the car resumed its former speed.
"Who the deuce are you?" he demanded, in a voice that trembled slightly.
"Like yourself, I have many names," she said. "In Washington they call me Nan Shelley; at Cragg's Crossing I'm Mrs. Scammel, formerly Nan Cragg."
"Oh—ho!" with a low whistle of astonishment. "Nan Cragg, eh! So you've returned from your wanderings, have you?" with a derisive sneer.
"For a time. But in wandering around I've found my place in the world and I'm now a lady detective, not an especially high-class occupation but satisfactory as a bread-winner. I find I'm quite talented; I'm said to be a pretty fair detective."
She could feel him tremble beside her. He moved away from her as far as he could but the pressure against his side followed his movements. After a time he asked defiantly:
"Well, being a detective, what's your business with me? I hope you're not fool enough to think I'm a criminal."
"I don't think it; I know it. You're an unusual sort of a criminal, too," she replied. "You're mixed up in a somewhat lawless international plot, but it isn't my present business to bring you to book for that."