Yes, it was she.

“So you have come?” There was welcome neither in her tone nor face, nor was there the suggestion of any other sentiment.

“Yes.  I am not sure that I gave you my name, Miss Killigrew.”  He was secretly confused over this enigmatical reception.

She nodded.  She had been certain that, did he come at all, he would come in the knowledge of who she was.

“I am John Fitzgerald,” he said.

She thought for a space.  “Are you the Mr. Fitzgerald who wrote the long article recently on the piracy in the Chinese Seas?”

“Yes,” full of wonder.

Interest began to stir her face.  “It turns out, then, rather better than I expected.  I can see that you are puzzled.  I picked you out of many yesterday, on impulse, because you had the sang-froid necessary to carry out your jest to the end.”

“I am glad that I am not here under false colors.  What I did yesterday was, as you say, a jest.  But, on the other hand, are you not playing me one in kind?  I have much curiosity.”

“I shall proceed to allay it, somewhat.  This will be no jest.  Did you come armed?”

“Oh, indeed, no!” smiling.

She rather liked that.  “I was wondering if you did not believe this to be some silly intrigue.”

“I gave thought to but two things:  that you were jesting, or that you were in need of a gentleman as well as a man of courage.  Tell me, what is the danger, and why do you ask me if I am armed?” It occurred to him that her own charm and beauty might be the greatest danger he could possibly face.  More and more grew the certainty that he had seen her somewhere in the past.

“Ah, if I only knew what the danger was.  But that it exists I am positive.  Within the past two weeks, on odd nights, there have been strange noises here and there about the house, especially in the chimney.  My father, being slightly deaf, believes that these sounds are wholly imaginative on my part.  This is the first spring in years we have resided here.  It is really our summer home.  I am not more than normally timorous.  Some one we do not know enters the house at will.  How or why I can’t unravel.  Nothing has ever disappeared, either money, jewels, or silver, though I have laid many traps.  There is the huge fireplace in the library, and my room is above.  I have heard a tapping, like some one hammering gently on stone.  I have examined the bricks and so has my father, but neither of us has discovered anything.  Three days ago I placed flour thinly on the flagstone before the fireplace.  There were footprints in the morning—­of rubber shoes.  When I called in my father, the maid had unfortunately cleaned the stone without observing anything.  So my father still holds that I am subject to dreams.  His secretary, whom he had for three years, has left him.  The butler’s and servants’ quarters are in the rear of the other wing.  They have never been disturbed.”