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 that secret memorandum in her card-case, and the allegation made against her by the red-tabbed Intelligence officer.

I was on the point of telling her what had been discovered—the purport of the cipher message and the suspicion which rested upon her. Yet, would that induce her to be frank and tell me the truth? I decided that it would not, therefore I said nothing. Instead, I remarked in a low, sympathetic voice:

'I really think, darling, that it is due to me—to your people also—that you should tell us the truth of what happened to you, and of the identity of your enemies.'

'I have already told you, Claude,' was her quiet response. 'If you really love me, then you should at least trust me.'

'I do trust you, darling!' I protested quickly. 'You surely know that! You are in possession of all the secrets of our invention, and'

'Ah! the invention—the invention!' she cried and, as she suddenly recollected it, her whole manner instantly changed.

She started from her chair crying: 'Yes—yes! Now I remember! I remember! It was awful—terrible—ugh! Ah! my poor brain!' and again she drew her hand across her brow. 'My poor head!'

She paused but, next second, she turned to me, exclaiming in a tone quite unusual to her:

'No! I shall tell you nothing—I shall say nothing! I do not want to remember—I pray only to forget—yes, to forget all—everything. It is too horrible! Too cruel!' and I saw that my reference to our