“What is your name?”
“Yes, I thought you’d want to know that and it’s no more than right that I should tell you. You may call me Margie Marne.”
“But that’s not your name.”
The girl smiled.
“Perhaps not; don’t, for Heaven’s sake, rob me of the only secret I have—my true identity.”
“I will not. You shall keep your name. That secret can belong to you as long as you want it, or until you see best to disclose it.”
“The time may come when I can speak,” was the reply. “But you haven’t answered my question yet.”
“About the clew? It’s a queer case.”
“And a dark one?”
“Yes.”