“I don’t know what passed between them,” said Keith.  “But McDowell was tremendously worked up about you.  So am I. We might as well be frank, Miss Kirkstone.  There’s something rotten in Denmark when two people like you and Shan Tung mix up.  And you are mixed; you can’t deny it.  You have been to see Shan Tung late at night.  He was in the house with you the first night I saw you.  More than that—­he is in your house now!”

She shrank back as if he had struck at her.  “No, no, no,” she cried.  “He isn’t there.  I tell you, he isn’t!”

“How am I to believe you?” demanded Keith.  “You have not told the truth to McDowell.  You are fighting to cover up the truth.  And we know it is because of Shan Tung.  Why?  I am here to fight for you, to help you.  And McDowell, too.  That is why we must know.  Miss Kirkstone, do you love the Chinaman?”

He knew the words were an insult.  He had guessed their effect.  As if struck there suddenly by a painter’s brush, two vivid spots appeared in the girl’s pale cheeks.  She shrank back from him another step.  Her eyes blazed.  Slowly, without turning their flame from his face, she pointed to the edge of the shrubbery a few feet from where they were standing.  He looked.  Twisted and partly coiled on the mold, where it had been clubbed to death, was a little green grass snake.

“I hate him—­like that!” she said.

His eyes came back to her.  “Then for some reason known only to you and Shan Tung you have sold or are intending to sell yourself to him!”

It was not a question.  It was an accusation.  He saw the flush of anger fading out of her cheeks.  Her body relaxed, her head dropped, and slowly she nodded in confirmation.

“Yes, I am going to sell myself to him.”

The astounding confession held him mute for a space.  In the interval it was the girl who became self-possessed.  What she said next amazed him still more.

“I have confessed so much because I am positive that you will not betray me.  And I went up to the Shack to find you, because I want you to help me find a story to tell McDowell.  You said you would help me.  Will you?”

He still did not speak, and she went on.

“I am accepting that promise as granted, too.  McDowell mistrusts, but he must not know.  You must help me there.  You must help me for two or three weeks, At the end of that time something may happen.  He must be made to have faith in me again.  Do you understand?”

“Partly,” said Keith.  “You ask me to do this blindly, without knowing why I am doing it, without any explanation whatever on your part except that for some unknown and mysterious price you are going to sell yourself to Shan Tung.  You want me to cover and abet this monstrous deal by hoodwinking the man whose suspicions threaten its consummation.  If there was not in my own mind a suspicion that you are insane, I should say your proposition is as ludicrous as it is impossible.  Having that suspicion, it is a bit tragic.  Also it is impossible.  It is necessary for you first to tell me why you are going to sell yourself to Shan Tung.”