the office, and Brierly dropped weakly into the nearest chair and dropped his face upon his hands.
"You thought," finished Ferrars, "that I was interested in the woman. I was. I suspected her from the very first, and so did Hilda Grant."
In the inner room, Mrs. Jamieson opened her eyes and looked up to meet the gaze of the fair woman who was in all things what she was not.
Ruth bent over her, a glass of water in her hand.
"Drink this, Mrs. Jamieson," she said simply.
A shudder like a death throe shook the recumbent form. She lifted herself by one elbow, and caught at the glass, drinking greedily. Then, still holding the glass, she said slowly:
"Then you know me?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"By your voice, a little, but mostly by what Mr. Ferrars said."
"Mr. Ferrars!" she gasped. "Do you mean him?"
"I mean the man you have called Grant. Did you never guess that he was a detective?"
"And he knew!" The woman arose to her full height and again, as on a night long since, and in another country, her arms were tossed above her head, as Ruth
