Anna the Adventuress

"You!"

David Courtlaw crossed the floor of the dingy little sitting-room with

outstretched hands.

"You cannot say that you did not expect me," he answered. "I got

Sydney's telegram at ten o'clock, and caught the ten-thirty from the

Gare du Nord."

"It is very nice of you," Anna said softly.

"Rubbish!" he answered. "I could not have stayed in Paris and waited

for news. Tell me exactly what has happened. Even now I do not

understand. Is this man Hill dead?"

She shook her head.

"He was alive at four o'clock this afternoon," she answered, "but the

doctors give little hope of his recovery."

"What is there to be feared?" he asked her quietly.

She hesitated.

"You are my friend," she said, "if any one is. I think that I will

tell you. The man Hill has persecuted me for months--ever since I have

been in England. He claimed me for his wife, and showed to every one a

marriage certificate. He shot at me at the 'Unusual,' and the

magistrates bound him over to keep the peace. I found him once in my

rooms, and I believe that he had a key to my front door. Last night

Mr. Brendon and I returned from the 'Unusual,' and found him lying

in my room shot through the lungs. In the grate were some charred

fragments of a marriage certificate. We fetched the doctor and the

police. From the first I could see that neither believed my story. I

am suspected of having shot the man."

"But that is ridiculous!" he exclaimed.

She laughed a little bitterly.

"I am under police surveillance," she said. "So is Mr. Brendon."

"But there is not a shadow of evidence against you," he objected. "The

man alone could supply any, and if he recovers sufficiently to say

anything, what he would say would exonerate you."

"Yes."

There was a moment's silence. Anna's face was half turned from him,

but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. He

stepped quickly towards her. Her eyes seemed to be looking backwards.

She distinctly shivered as he forced her to look at him. He was

bewildered.

"Anna!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "Look at me. What is it? Good God!"

An unhappy little smile parted her lips. She clenched her hands

together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the

fire.

"I think," she said, "that I will tell you everything. I must tell

somebody--and you would understand."

"I am your friend," he said slowly, "whatever you may have to tell me.

You can trust me, Anna. You know that. I will be as silent as the

grave."

"Not long ago," she said, "you left me in anger, partly because of

this exchange of identities between Annabel and myself. You said that

it would bring trouble. It has."