“Tell me what you want, and then go,” said Violet imperiously, and he grinned. There was a little more humour in his grin now. It was not, she fancied, quite as grim and menacing as had been the smiles that he had showered on her so plenteously earlier in the interview.

“As you like,” he said, spreading his hands in quite a French fashion; and then, without more ado, he began to say what he wanted to tell her.

“You are, I understand,” he began, “engaged to be married to Mr. Harry Baker.”

“Yes.”

“Are you—what they would say, very much in love with that young gentleman?”

“Yes.”

“You still think that he will be set free by the so foolish police, eh?”

“Yes.”

“And you still think that when he is thus set free you will marry him, eh?”

“Yes.”

“You are not in a very chatty mood, are you?” he asked, leaning towards her and grinning up into her face.

“I am not,” returned Violet. “And I would remind you, sir, that this interview is not of my seeking. I understood that you wished to put some sort of proposition before me. I did not know that you were intending to cross-examine me as to certain private matters which are, after all, entirely my own affair.”

“Haughty!” he exclaimed, and chuckled loudly.

“It was necessary,” he went on, “that I should know certain things about your private life, my dear Miss Arnell, before I went on to put this proposition before you. I hope that you understand what I mean; and that you do not think that all those questions were just pieces of studied insolence on my part.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand in the least,” said Violet hotly. “I haven’t any idea what you are driving at; and, if you don’t soon explain what you want me to do, I shall begin to think that you are merely trying to waste my time—though to what end, I simply can’t imagine at all.”

Again he chuckled. “I do not waste your time, my dear young lady,” he said. “Nor, for that matter, do I waste my own, which I would guess is probably a good deal more valuable than yours.”

“Explain yourself, then, and don’t beat about the bush in this way,” said Violet.

“I will,” said he, and paused. He seemed to find his mysterious proposition, whatever it might be, exceedingly difficult to put into words, and Violet found herself gazing out of the window, admiring the lovely shades of brown and gold which were there. Again she found herself wondering precisely where she was; and she put her thought, almost unwittingly, into words.

“I wonder,” she asked, “if you would mind telling me precisely where I am?”