saw the hook-nosed old woman, her bonnet and shawl removed, seated at the table with a lighted candle, carefully counting a number of bank-notes.
The dim light falling upon her revealed a thin, careworn, wrinkled face, with dark, deep-sunken eyes, high cheek bones and grey hair—an evil, repulsive countenance. Her long, brown hands fingered the notes as she murmured to herself in counting. Upon the table lay a shabby leather vanity-bag from which she had apparently taken the large sum she was counting.
Suddenly, without warning, I stepped into the room and confronted her.
She grabbed the notes beneath her hand, and sat staring at me, open-mouthed, immovable as a statue.
"Well, madam!" I exclaimed in a hard voice. "Perhaps you will explain your presence here in this house, eh?"
"Explain!" she cried. "Why should I? Who are you?"
"I am a person, madam, who knows your secret," was my reply. "A man who, if you so desire, is ready and anxious to help you, and become your friend."
"Why do you wish to become my friend,
