“No doubt,” said Holmes, “he was as you say I have heard that he was atrocious. But how are you affected?”

“I will tell you it all. This villain’s policy was to murder, on one pretext or another, every man who showed such promise that he might in time come to be a dangerous rival. My husband — yes, my real name is Signora Victor Durando — was the San Pedro minister in London. He met me and married me there. A nobler man never lived upon earth. Unhappily, Murillo heard of his excellence, recalled him on some pretext, and had him shot. With a premonition of his fate he had refused to take me with him. His estates were confiscated, and I I was left with a pittance and a broken heart.

“Then came the downfall of the tyrant. He escaped as you have just described. But the many whose lives he had ruined, whose nearest and dearest had suffered torture and death at his hands, would not let the matter rest. They banded themselves into a society which should never be dissolved until the work was done. It was my part after we had discovered in the transformed Henderson the fallen despot, to attach myself to his household and keep the others in touch with his movements. This I was able to do by securing the position of governess in his family. He little knew that the woman who faced him at every meal was was the woman whose husband he had hurried at an hour’s notice into eternity. I smiled on him, did my duty to his children, and bided my time. An attempt was made in Paris and failed. We zig-zagged swiftly here and there over Europe to throw off the pursuers and finally returned to this house, which he had taken upon his first arrival in England.

“But here also the ministers of justice were waiting. Knowing that he would return there, Garcia, who is the son of the former highest dignitary in San Pedro, was waiting with two trusty companions of humble station, all three fired with the same reasons for revenge. He could do little during the day, for Murillo took every precaution and and never went out save with his satellite Lucas, or Lopez as he was known in the days of his greatness. At night, however, he slept alone, and the avenger might find him. On a certain evening, which had been prearranged, I sent my friend final instructions, for the man was forever on the alert and continually changed his room. I was to see that the doors were open and the signal of a green or white light in a window which faced the drive was to give notice if all was safe or if the attempt had better be postponed.

“But everything went wrong with us. In some way I had excited the suspicion of Lopez, the secretary. He crept up behind me me and sprang upon me just as I had finished the note. He and his master dragged me to my room and held judgment upon me as a convicted traitress. Then and there they would have plunged their knives into me could they have seen how to escape the consequences of the deed. Finally, after much debate, they concluded that my murder was too dangerous. But they determined to get rid forever of Garcia. They had gagged me, and Murillo twisted my arm round until I gave him the address. I swear that he might have twisted it off had I understood what it would mean to Garcia. Lopez addressed the note which I had written, sealed it with his sleeve-link, and sent sent it by the hand of the servant, Jose. How they murdered him I do not know, save that it was Murillo’s hand who struck him down, for Lopez had remained to guard me. I believe he must have waited among the gorse bushes through which the path winds and struck him down as he passed. At first they were of a mind to let him enter the house and to kill him as a detected burglar; but they argued that if they were mixed up in an inquiry their own identity would at once be publicly disclosed and they would be open to further attacks. With the death of Garcia, the pursuit might cease, since such a death might frighten others others from the task.

She spoke nervously. She could still see on Connie’s face the smoothness and the half–dream of passion, and she could feel the irritation against herself.

‘Quite!’ said Connie. And she could say no more.

The two women plodded on through the wet world, in silence, while great drops splashed like explosions in the wood. Ben they came to the park, Connie strode ahead, and Mrs Bolton panted a little. She was getting plumper.

‘How foolish of Clifford to make a fuss!’ said Connie at length, angrily, really speaking to herself.

‘Oh, you know what men are! They like working themselves up. But he’ll be all right as soon as he sees your Ladyship.’

Connie was very angry that Mrs Bolton knew her secret: for certainly she knew it.

Suddenly Constance stood still on the path.

‘It’s monstrous that I should have to be followed!’ she said, her eyes flashing.

‘Oh! your Ladyship, don’t say that! He’d certainly have sent the two men, and they’d have come straight to the hut. I didn’t know where it was, really.’

Connie flushed darker with rage, at the suggestion. Yet, while her passion was on her, she could not lie. She could not even pretend there was nothing between herself and the keeper. She looked at the other woman, who stood so sly, with her head dropped: yet somehow, in her femaleness, an ally.

‘Oh well!’ she said. ‘I fit is so it is so. I don’t mind!’

‘Why, you’re all right, my Lady! You’ve only been sheltering in the hut. It’s absolutely nothing.’

They went on to the house. Connie marched in to Clifford’s room, furious with him, furious with his pale, over–wrought fee and prominent eyes.

‘I must say, I don’t think you need send the servants after me,’ she burst out.

‘My God!’ he exploded. ‘Where have you been, woman, You’ve been gone hours, hours, and in a storm like this! What the hell do you go to that–bloody wood for? What have you been up to? It’s hours even since the rain stopped, hours! Do you know what time it is? You’re enough to drive anybody mad. Where have you been? What in the name of hell have you been doing?’

‘And what if I don’t choose to tell you?’ She pulled her hat from her head and shook her hair.

He lied at her with his eyes bulging, and yellow coming into the whites. It was very bad for him to get into these rages: Mrs Bolton had a weary time with him, for days after. Connie felt a sudden qualm.

But really!’ she said, milder. ‘Anyone would think I’d been I don’t know where! I just sat in the hut during all the storm, and made myself a little fire, and was happy.’

She spoke now easily. After all, why work him up any more!

He looked at her suspiciously.

And look at your hair!’ he said; ‘look at yourself!’

‘Yes!’ she replied calmly. ‘I ran out in the rain with no clothes on.’