“Do you recollect, too, how heavily the rain fell, and how you turned from Theobald’s Road into Harpur Street in search of something? You saw the sign—the stuffed bear cub in the window, the fatal sign. Do you deny it?”
She was silent. Her lips twitched, but for a few moments no sound came from them. She was dumbfounded, and unable to speak. At last she stammered:
“I know, I know! But why do you torture me like this,” she cried, “you who evidently know the truth?”
“Unfortunately I do not know the truth,” I declared. “I may as well tell you, however, that I overheard your exclamation when your eyes fell upon the sign in that dingy upper room, and I followed you both home to Grosvenor Street, determined that if you would allow me I would stand your friend. Because of that I have ventured to introduce myself to you this evening.”
“My friend?” she echoed. “Ah! it is all very well to offer me your assistance, Mr Kennedy; but I fear it can be of no avail. My enemies are stronger than you are. They have crushed all my life out of me. My future is hopeless—utterly hopeless,” she sighed.
The collie, escaping from her hand, sniffed me suspiciously, and then settled near his mistress.
“Ah, no! there is always hope. Besides, I am utterly in the dark as to the meaning of your words. My surmise, based simply upon logical conclusions, is that our interests are, as I have already suggested, identical. You have heard of me, have you not?”
“I have read your books,” was her answer, “and my father has spoken of you.”
“He has spoken of me in connection with the sign placed in that window in Bloomsbury?” I suggested.
She nodded. Her splendid eyes met mine mysteriously.