Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/329

309 "That's what I'd like to know myself. But I don't seem able to straighten things out. And I hate to think!"

I promptly decided to help her along that line.

"Then suppose we begin by clearing up the point as to just who you are," I calmly suggested. She stared at me with mild resentment, as though to imply that she had been burdened by little of the mystery of her own identity. I could see that she was by no means the docile and yielding young thing which her artless languor might have led one to expect.

"I'd rather like to know who you are," she finally announced.

"Haven't you any idea?" I asked.

"Not the least," she told me.

So I decided to drop a shrapnel-shell into her encampment of unconcern.

"I'm Clarissa Rhinelander Bartlett!" I announced.

This statement quite failed to startle her. She was even able to laugh a little at it.

"Then there are three of us!" she quietly observed.

"Three of us?" I echoed.

She nodded her head. "At least, there were three of us," she amended, "as far as I can make out."