Her dry tongue passed over her parched lips, she seemed to be making an effort to speak.
On the table near her right hand was a knife.
Nicholas Crips slipped into the room, the door closed softly behind him.
He had recognised the woman.

She was his Mary Stuart of the Mask Ball.
The man on the floor he remembered in the guise of Henry VIII.
For a terrible half-minute the two stared at each other over the dead man.
"You killed him!" whispered Nickie.
The woman tried to moisten her lips again, made an effort to speak, and her voice broke in her throat.

She nodded dumbly.
"My God!" "You-you-what are you going to do ?" whispered the woman.

"Why don't you call out ?" There was a wild hope in her dilated eyes.

"You don't! You don't!" Nickie shook his head.