“No, Captain West.”

He stared off into the black night, his lips pressed closely together.  Could this be false?  Could she sit there calmly, in the midst of such peril as surrounded them, and still deliberately endeavour to deceive?

“And you knew nothing of the death of Percival Coolidge, except what was told you by that woman?”

“She brought me a newspaper which I read; that was all I knew.”

“And in that house on Wray Street where I met you again last night.  I suppose you were not there either?”

“Wray Street?  I do not know; I was at some place with a saloon on the ground floor.  I could not tell you where it was.”

“That is where it was—­Wray Street, on the northwest side, a thieves’ rendezvous.  And you talked with me there; tried to get me to quit following you.  You surely haven’t forgotten that already?”

She dropped her face wearily into her hands, and her voice sounded listless.

“I—­I almost believe you are the crazy one, Captain West.  I swear I have never knowingly met, or spoken to you since we drove to that cottage on Sunday.  I cannot believe what you say.”

“Yet it is true, every word true”; he asserted stoutly.  “Why else should I be here?  You returned with us to ‘Fairlawn,’ and we chatted together pleasantly all the way.  Later you seemed to change, and discharged me rather rudely.  Then Percival Coolidge was killed—­shot down by an assassin, not a suicide.  I know because I found the body.  You were at the inquest, and testified.  I saw you with my own eyes.  The next day you discharged Sexton, and later he learned, and reported to me, that some one called you on the phone from Wray Street, and wanted you to come over there at once.”

“Was that why you went there?”

“Yes; I felt something was wrong; the killing of Percival Coolidge had aroused my suspicions; and I sought to learn who those people were you had visited in the cottage.  They were gone, and only for this telephone call, I should have lost the trail entirely.  I found you there, and this fellow Hobart with you.”

“But, Captain West, I never saw you; I never left the room in the third story where I was locked in, except when they took me away in a machine to the yacht.”

“You dropped a note in the alley, enclosed in a silver knife?”

“Yes, I did.  I dared not hope it would be found, but I took the chance.  Did you find it?”

“Sexton did, and that was what brought me here.”

“But it is all so strange,” she exclaimed despairingly.  “How could I have done all these things, been in all these places, and yet know nothing about it?  Could I have been drugged? or influenced in some way by those people?  I have read there is such a power—­where one person can make another obey absolutely, with no knowledge of what he is doing; what do they call that?”

“Hypnotism.  I have seen it cut some odd capers; but I do not believe you were either hypnotized or drugged.  Good God; why did I not think of this solution before?  I must have been blind; that was not you; I can recall a hundred little things now to convince me.”