“Unfortunately,” I said, with slow emphasis, “you are protected by my promise, made on the occasion of our previous meeting. But murder has been done, so that honour scarcely demands that I respect my promise further—”
She raised her eyebrows slightly.
“Surely that depends upon the quality of the honour!” she said.
“I believe you to be a member of a murderous organization, and unless you can convince me that I am wrong, I shall act accordingly.”
At that she leaned toward me, laying her hand on my arm.
“Please do not be so cruel,” she whispered, “as to drag me into a matter with which truly I have no concern. Believe me, you are utterly mistaken. Wait one moment, and I will prove it.”
She rose, and before I could make move to detain her, quitted the room; but the door scarcely had closed ere I was afoot. The corridor beyond was empty. I ran on. The lift had just descended. A dark man whom I recognized stood near the closed gate.
“Quick!” I said, “I am Cavanagh of the Report! Did you see a lady enter the lift?”
“I did, Mr. Cavanagh,” answered the hotel detective; for this was he.
In such a giant inn as this I knew full well that one could come and go almost with impunity, though one had no right to the hospitality of the establishment; and it was with a premonition respecting what his answer would be, that I asked the man—