Perhaps he had intended that our positions should be reversed, but God had willed it otherwise.
Did Lucie Miller herself know what had taken place in Pisa?
I asked her point-blank, but from her replies I became reassured that she was entirely ignorant of the real facts. She knew that some extraordinary incident that concerned me had taken place there—that was all.
By what means had the stranger obtained knowledge of my secret? To me, her allegation that I had had some narrow escape seemed incredible. I could not discern sufficient motive. Yet she repeated her allegation, adding:—
“His motives were always hidden ones.”
“Well,” I declared, “to me the thing is really beyond credence. I can’t see what I can have done to injure him. Was it in connection with the affair in Pisa, do you think?”
“I believe it was, but of course I’m not quite certain,” was her somewhat vague reply. Perhaps she desired to mislead me.
The position was certainly a strange one. Had the dead man been a secret enemy of both of us?
The sweet face had changed as she sat with her neat patent-leather shoe stretched forth upon the shabby hearth-rug. It was even paler and more serious, while her eyes were fixed upon mine with a curious, intense gaze that caused me surprise.
“You have fortunately escaped,” she said mechanically, after a brief pause. “I am, however, a victim, and doomed.”