The man was harmless enough, to all appearance—something less than middle-aged, pale, and with stubbly brown moustache. He was dressed in blue serge clothes, and a bowler hat a little ancient at the brim. Neither his appearance nor his manner was remarkable for any particular intelligence. Yet the girl who looked him over was at once suspicious.

“What can I do for you?” she asked a little curtly.

He pointed to the crystal upon the table, and held out his hand.

“I want my fortune told,” he said.

Violet shook her head.

“I do not attempt to read fortunes,” she said, “and I do not, in any case, see gentlemen here at all. I do not understand how the boy could have shown you up.”

“It wasn’t the boy’s fault,” the visitor answered. “I was very keen on coming, and I gave him the slip. Do make an exception for once, won’t you?” he went on. “I know my hand is very easy to read. I had it read once, and nearly everything came true.”

Again she shook her head.

“I cannot do anything for you, sir,” she said.

The man protested.

“But you call yourself a professional palmist,” he said, “and you add crystal gazing to your announcement. I have seen it being carried along on Regent Street.”

“It is quite true,” Violet said, “that I sometimes try to amuse ladies, but I make no serious attempt to tell fortunes. And as I said before, I do not even receive gentlemen here at all. I am sorry that you have had your visit for nothing.”

He rose to his feet with a shrug of the shoulders. There was nothing to be done but to accept defeat. And then, at the moment of defeat, something happened which more than reconciled him to his wasted visit. The door was opened abruptly, and Saton entered.

He realized the situation, or its possibilities, in an instant. His bow to Violet was the bow of a stranger.

“You are engaged,” he said. “I will come again. I am sorry that your boy did not tell me.”

“This gentleman came under a misapprehension,” Violet answered. “I am sorry, but the same thing applies to you. I do not receive gentlemen here.”

Saton bowed.

“I am sorry,” he said.

The page-boy for whom Violet had rung, opened the door. The first comer passed out, with obvious reluctance. The moment that the door was closed, Violet turned towards Saton with a little exclamation.

“Well,” she said, “of all the idiots I ever knew. Haven’t I told you time after time that this place is infested with detectives? We get them here every day or so, trying to trap us, women as well as men. And yet you walk in as though the place belonged to you. The one thing they are so anxious to find out is who is running this show.”

“I was a fool to come, Violet,” Saton admitted, “and I am going at once. You think, then, that he was a detective?”

“I am sure of it,” she answered. “I was sure of it, from the moment he came in.”

“I will go,” Saton said.

“Did you come to see me?” she asked, with a momentary softening in her tone.

Saton nodded.

“It must be another time,” he said. “I will not stop now, or that man below will suspect.”

“When will our next evening be, Bertrand?” she begged, following him to the door.

“I’ll send you a telegram,” he answered—“perhaps, to-morrow.”

Saton descended the stairs quickly. On the threshold of the door he paused, with the apparent object of lighting a cigarette. His eyes travelled up and down the street. Looking into a shop-window a few yards away, was the man whom he had found with Violet.

He strolled slowly along the pavement and accosted him.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Please don’t think me impertinent, but I am really curious to know whether that young woman was honest or not. She refused to read my hand or look into the crystal for me, simply because I was a man. Did she treat you in just the same way?”

The detective smiled.

“Yes!” he said. “She was very much on her guard indeed. Declined to have anything to do with me.”

“Well,” said Saton, “I only went in for a joke. I’ll try one of the others. There’s a wonderful lady in Oxford Street somewhere, they tell me, with the biggest black eyes in London. Good day, sir!”

Saton walked off, and entered a neighboring tea-shop. From there he telephoned to Violet, who a few minutes later appeared.

“Sit down and have some tea,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

“It’s almost time, isn’t it?” she asked, reproachfully.

“Never mind about that just now,” he said. “You can guess a little how things are. Those questions in the House upset the Home Secretary, and I am quite convinced that they have made up their minds at Scotland Yard to go for us. You are sure that you have been careful?”

“Absolutely,” she answered. “I have not once, to man or woman, pretended to tell their fortune. I tell them that the whole thing is a joke; that I will look into the crystal for them if they wish it, or read their hands, but I do not profess to tell their fortunes. What I see I will tell them. It may interest them or it may not. If it does, I ask them to give me something as a present. Of course, I see that they always do that. But you are quite right, Bertrand. Every one of our shows is being watched. Besides that fellow this afternoon I had two detectives yesterday, and a woman whom I am doubtful about, who keeps on coming.”

“Three weeks longer,” Saton remarked, half to himself. “Perhaps it isn’t worth while. Perhaps it would be better to close up now.”

“Only three weeks?” Violet asked eagerly. “Bertrand, what are you going to do then? What is going to become of me?”

Saton patted her on the hand.

“I will tell you a little later on,” he said. “Everything will be arranged all right. The only thing I am wondering about is whether it wouldn’t be better to close up at once.”

“They’ve got a big piece of business on at the office,” she remarked.

Saton frowned.

“I know it,” he answered. “It’s a dangerous piece of business, too. It’s blackmail, pure and simple. I wonder Huntley dare tackle it. It might mean five years’ penal servitude for him.”

“He’d give you away before he went to penal servitude,” Violet remarked. “You may make yourself jolly sure of that.”

Saton passed his hand across his forehead.

“Phew!” he said. “How stuffy this place is! Violet, I wish you’d go round to Huntley, and talk to him. Of course, he gets a big percentage on the returns, and that makes him anxious to squeeze everyone. But I don’t want any risks. We’re nearly out of the wood. I don’t want to be trapped now. And I’ve an enemy, Violet—a pretty dangerous enemy, too. I fancy that most of this activity at Scotland Yard and thereabouts lately, is due to him.”

“I’ll go,” she said, drawing on her gloves. “Shall I telephone to you?”

He nodded.

“Telephone me at home,” he said. “Tell Dorrington, or Huntley—whichever you see—that the affair must be closed up—either dropped or settled. The risk is too great. My other work is becoming more and more important every day. I ought not to be mixed up with this sort of thing at all, Violet.”

“Why are you?” she asked.

“Money,” he answered. “One must have money. One can do nothing without money. It isn’t that you or any of the other places make such an amazing lot. It’s from Dorrington, of course, that the biggest draws come. Still, on the whole it’s a good income.”

“And you’re going to give it all up?” she remarked.

He nodded.

“I daren’t go on,” he said. “We’ve reached about the limit.”

“How are you going to live, then?” she asked curiously. “You’re not the sort of man to go back to poverty.”

Saton considered for a moment. After all, perhaps it would pay him best to be straightforward with this girl. He would tell her the truth. If she were disagreeable about it, he could always swear that he had been joking.

“Violet,” he said, “I will tell you what I am going to do. It does not sound very praiseworthy, but you must remember that my work, my real hard work, means a great deal to me, and for its sake I am willing to put up with a good deal of misunderstanding. I am going to ask you to break off our engagement. I am going to marry a young lady who has a great deal of money.”

Violet sat perfectly still in her chair. For several seconds she did not utter a syllable. Her lips were a little parted. The color seemed suddenly drawn from her face, and her eyes narrowed. One realized then the pernicious effect of cosmetics. Her blackened eyebrows were painfully apparent. The little patch of rouge was easily discernible against the pallor of her powdered skin. She was suddenly ugly. Saton, looking at her, was amazed that he could ever have brought himself to touch her lips.

“Ah!” she remarked. “I hadn’t thought of that. You want to marry some one else, eh?”

Saton nodded.

“It isn’t that I want to,” he declared, “only, as you know, I must have money. I can’t marry you without it, can I, Violet? We should only be miserable. You understand that?”

“Yes, I understand!” she answered.

She was turning one of her rings round, looking down at her hands with downcast head.

“You’re upset, Violet,” he said, soothingly. “I’m sorry. You see I can’t help myself, don’t you?”

“Oh, I suppose so!” she answered. “Who is the young lady?”

“A Miss Lois Champneyes,” Saton said. “She is a ward of a Mr. Henry Rochester, who has been my enemy all along. It is he, I believe, who has stirred up these detectives to keep watching us.”

“Henry Rochester,” she repeated. “Yes, I remember the name! He lives at the great house near Blackbird’s Nest.”

Saton nodded.

“He showed you the way to my cottage once there,” he reminded her. “Well, I’m glad I’ve told you, Violet. I hope you understand exactly how much it means. It’s Rachael’s doings, of course, and I daren’t go against her.”

“No, I suppose not!” she answered.

They parted in the street. Saton called a taximeter and drove off. Violet walked slowly down Bond Street. As she passed the corner of Piccadilly, she was suddenly aware that the man who had visited her that afternoon was watching her from the other side of the street. She hesitated for a moment, and then, standing still, deliberately beckoned him over.

“You are a detective, are you not?” she asked, as he approached, hat in hand.

He smiled.

“You are a very clever young lady,” he remarked.

“I don’t want any compliments,” she answered. “Did you come to my show this afternoon hoping just to catch me tripping, or are you engaged in a larger quest altogether?”

“In a larger quest,” he answered. “I want some information, and if you can give it me, I can promise that you will be remarkably well paid.”

“And the information?” she asked.

“I want,” he said slowly, “to be able to connect the young man who came in and pretended to be a stranger, and who has just been having tea with you—I mean Mr. Bertrand Saton—I want to connect him with your establishment, and also with a little office where some very strange business has been transacted during the last few months. You know where I mean. What do you say? Shall we have a talk?”

She walked by his side along Piccadilly.

“We may as well,” she said. “We’ll go into the CafÉ Royal and sit down.”