"You don't know her."
"No, but I know women, Mr. Royle—I know all their idiosyncrasies as well as most men, I think," he said.
I begged him not to approach my well-beloved, but he was inexorable.
"I must see her—and I must know the truth," he declared decisively.
But I implored again of him, begging him to spare her—begged her life.
I had gripped him by the hand, and looking into his face I pointed out that I had done and was doing all I could to elucidate the mystery.
"At least," I cried, "you will wait until the fugitives are arrested!"
"There is only one—the impostor," he said. "There is no charge against the others."
"Then I will lay a charge to-night against the woman Petre and the man Ali of attempting to kill me." I said. "The two names can then be added to the warrant."
"Very well," he said. "We'll go to the Yard, and I will take your information."