been to-day. I have forced you to your promise, but for that I ask your forgiveness, because it is essential, if the mystery is ever to be solved.”

“Are you, too, seeking the truth?”

“Yes,” she responded. “But we must not talk here. The condition of our clothes is attracting attention.”

“I shall think always of the mysterious Edna who refuses all information,” I laughed.

“And I, too, shall not easily forget you—and all I owe to you. Farewell.”

Her soft hand grasped mine for an instant, that same cool hand that had soothed my brow. Afterwards she assisted me into the cab.

“Good-bye,” she cried. Then she became lost to me.

I told the driver where to go, and sat back in the vehicle, plunged in my own thoughts. I was like a man in a dream. The mystery was most tantalising. Feeling weak, I stopped at a public-house and had some brandy. Indeed, I felt so unwell that I sat in the bar-parlour fully half an hour before resuming my drive.

Suddenly I recollected that I might gather something from the driver, and I inquired where he had taken me up.

“In Albert Road, Battersea, sir.”

This surprised me, for I had no idea that I had been on the Surrey side of the river.

I explained to the man my blindness, and asked him to describe the lady who had put me into this cab.

“Well, sir,” he said, “she was very pretty indeed, with grey eyes and darkish hair.”

“She was good-looking—eh?”

“Yes, sir. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a much prettier young lady.”

I sighed. How tantalising it was that my poor sightless eyes had been unable to gaze upon her.

“Describe her more closely,” I urged. “I’m anxious to know exactly what she’s like.”

“She had lovely eyes, sir. Her hair seemed a bit untidy, but it was a pretty shade of dark-brown. Her face seemed innocent-looking, like a child’s. I was surprised to see her like that.”

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