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Oh, Vera couldn’t be so cruel as to do this thing—she couldn’t!

Ann rose and crossed to the writing-table in the corner—she wouldn’t lose a minute—she’d write at once!

But as she pulled out notepaper and envelopes, again the knocker sounded. Had Holmes changed his mind and come to see her after all? She hoped that he had not, for what had they to say to one another? He had told her everything in his letter.

She moved across the room, and into the narrow passage at the entrance. Throwing open the door she saw, not Holmes, but Rodney Marsh standing on the pavement.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I want to talk to you.”

“Come in then.”

She closed the outer door, and he followed her back into her showroom. He had taken off his hat; and his rumpled hair, and something in his eyes—a wild, strained look—accentuated the untamed air, which in her first vision of him had been so apparent.

“Have you been drinking?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“No,” he answered. “Perhaps I shall... later. I had to see you first.”

“Why?”

He came close to her, where she stood by the table under the light.

“They’re saying things—coupling your name with Holmes.”

“Well?”

“Tell me it isn’t true—what they’re saying.”