In that little room, with its vivid colouring and heavy scented¹ atmosphere, the two women faced each other, bent² upon battle. At the outset, the advantage lay with Zara, seeing how she had penetrated³ the disguise of the devoted⁴ sister. For one moment the dancer eyed the pale and startled face of her visitor, and then crossed to a bronze tripod of classic shape and beauty, wherein smouldered a pastille. While lighting⁵ another one, she threw a careless glance over her shoulder.  
"Well," she said, quietly, "have you nothing to say?"
 
Clarice, now on her feet, looked at the gaudy⁶ comfort of the tiny room, at the Oriental draperies and ornaments⁷, at the Persian praying mats, at herself in the glass, tall, slim, and boyish, in her masculine attire⁸, and then her gaze came back to the graceful⁹ woman in the maize-hued tea-gown. Zara met her gaze with insolence¹⁰, and a smile curved the red beauty of her full lips. "Have you nothing to say?" she repeated, and the question sounded like a challenge.
 
"A great deal," retorted Clarice, nerving herself for the battle; "in spite of this dress I am a woman, and therefore can use my tongue."
 
"You will have to use your brains also," said Zara, with a shrug¹¹, "if you wish to conquer me."
 
"How do you know that I wish to conquer you?"
 
"You would not be here else. I can guess why you have come; to save Ferdy from becoming what you no doubt call--my prey¹², Bah! As if Ferdy was worth it."
 
"He must be worth something," said Clarice, dryly, "or you would not wish to marry him."
 
"Oh, I explained that," retorted Zara, lightly, and dusting one hand with the other. "I explained, if you remember, when I still took you to be Ferdy himself. I am always frank with the boy, and he knows, as you do now, Miss Baird, that I only wish to marry him for--shall we say professional purposes? I like him--oh, yes. He is handsome and very charming, when he chooses. Also he is sure of a certain income, even though it is a small one, and not available for two years. I can manage Ferdy, and that is necessary when a woman wants her own way on all occasions, as I do. I might do worse than marry your brother, don't you think so?"
 
"Certainly I do," answered Clarice, now quite composed, and resuming her seat; "only you shall not marry Ferdy, and use him as a cat's-paw for your respectability."
 
"Be polite, if you please," said the dancer, frowning; "I am polite to you, and desire the return compliment. My respectability is like that of Cæsar's wife--above suspicion. You see," with a gay laugh, "that in spite of my trifling¹³ education, I have some classical knowledge. Come, let us talk. You have much to say, and so have I. Will you have a cigarette? No. And in spite of smoking when you came into this room? Oh, I see. There is no need to keep up your manly¹⁴ pose. You look very well. Even handsomer than Ferdy, though I really was taken in, as my mother was. Dear me." Zara lighted a cigarette, and lay back in a deep armchair, puffing¹⁵ smoke, with her hands clasped behind her head. "What will she say when she hears that Miss Clarice Baird has been masquerading here, as her brother."
 
"She will say nothing," answered Clarice, coolly, "for the very simple reason that she will never know."
 
"Oh, yes. She will know from me, and all the inhabitants of Crumel will know from her. My mother is an excellent town crier."
 
"You carry it off very well," said Clarice, dryly; "but I am not quite so weak as Ferdy, remember."
 
"I grant that. I respect you more than I do him. He would never have ventured upon such a bold step as you have taken. I should like to know exactly why you ventured."
 
"You explained yourself a few minutes ago. I want to save Ferdy."
 
"My dear, he isn't worth it--he isn't worth more than that"--and Zara flicked¹⁶ the grey ash off her cigarette. "Will you have some fizz? No! A cigarette, then? No! Really," with a shrug, "you are not much of a man, my dear. I beg pardon for the familiarity; in that dress you look so like Ferdy that I make mistakes."
 
"On purpose. You are a clever woman, Miss Dumps."
 
"I am, but not that name, please. Twine¹⁷ is my name, and Ferdy will marry me as Sarah Twine. I prefer to be called Zara, or Butterfly, myself. The other name is so plebeian¹⁸; but then, I am a very common person."
 
"And a very clever one," said Clarice again, glancing at the gimcrack French clock on the draped mantelpiece; "but we are losing time, and I have to get back to my hotel. How did you recognise me?"
 
"Ah!" Zara clapped her hands. "Was not that smart of me? You will say yes. But you are wrong. It was chance--the chance upon which you did not reckon. It was ingenious of you to send Ferdy to Gattlinsands to get him out of the way, but it did not occur to you that Ferdy might write." She picked up an envelope from the table and threw it across to Clarice. "Here. It has just arrived."
 
Clarice threw the letter back. "There is no need. I recognise Ferdy's writing on the envelope. I don't wish to know how he writes to you."
 
"In a perfectly¹⁹ proper way, I assure you," said Zara, coolly; "I don't allow that child to be too familiar--it breeds contempt, you know. I have had too much of that sort of thing before I became famous, so I don't want another dose."
 
"So you knew that I was not Ferdy," said Clarice, slowly.
 
"Not at first; not until, by chance, I opened that envelope. I started, as you saw, and then came across to look at your arm. As the name--my name, Zara--was not tattooed²⁰ there, I guessed at once that you were not Ferdy, and that you could be none other than Miss Baird, the double of my dear sweet boy."
 
"Spare me the adjectives," said Clarice, coldly.
 
"I'm sparing you a great deal, I think," said Zara, viciously; "by what right do you thrust yourself into my affairs?"
 
"By the right of a sister's love."
 
"Bah! I don't believe that there is such a thing. Certainly, so far as Ferdy is concerned, there isn't brotherly love on his part. He would sell you for a five-pound note."
 
Clarice felt a pang²¹, for she knew how truly the dancer spoke²². "I agree with you there," she replied, sadly.
 
"My dear, he isn't worth it," said Zara, in a softer tone. "Well?"
 
"Well?" Clarice looked up.
 
"Speak away," said Zara, impatiently; "I'm all attention. What do you want to ask me?"
 
"Ah, now we are coming to business."
 
"About time," interpolated the other woman.
 
"Oh, I shall dispose of my business very shortly," said Clarice, sharply; "You want to marry Ferdy. To gain your ends, you told Prudence²³ Clarke a lie about her father."
 
Zara was quite unmoved, and blew smoke through her delicate nostrils²⁴. "Prudence has told you, then?"
 
"Yes. You forced her to send away Ferdy, to save her father."
 
"I did. I want Ferdy to myself, and I have no particular reason to desire the hanging of Mr. Clarke."
 
"You couldn't hang him if you tried," retorted Clarice, angrily.
 
"Oh, yes, I could. Suppose--for the sake of argument--that I went to Inspector²⁵ Tick, of Crumel, with my story of what I saw."
 
"You saw nothing."
 
Zara cast a surprised look at Clarice. "Well, I suppose it is to your interest to decline to believe. Nevertheless, what I told Prudence is true for all that."
 
"Did you really see Mr. Clarke leave The Laurels²⁶ at two in the morning?"
 
Zara threw away her cigarette, and rose quietly.
 
"I really did," she said, in her most decisive tone. "My mother was ill, and I went out for sal volatile²⁷. It was a mere²⁸ chance, of course, that I should be out on that night of all nights. On any other night--at any other time, even--I should have seen nothing. But the Cosmic Powers, for their own ends, and for my benefit, I presume, brought me abreast²⁹ of The Laurels, when Mr. Clarke was skipping out of the window."
 
Clarice was greatly startled. "Do you really believe that Mr. Clarke killed my guardian³⁰?"
 
Zara looked at her swiftly. "Oh, I am not prepared to say that; and I beg to remind you that I am not in the witness-box."
 
"Which means that you cannot swear to the truth of your story."
 
"Yes, I can; but I can't swear that Mr. Clarke is the murderer. It certainly looks as though he were guilty, but----" Zara paused.
 
"But you credit Osip with the crime?"
 
"The jury did--the police do--the papers do--public opinion does. I can't lay claim to be more clever than others."
 
Clarice looked at her keenly. "Yes, you can, and you do. I believe your story of Mr. Clarke coming out of the room. But as to his guilt----"
 
"Pardon me. I say nothing about that," interrupted Zara; "but if Prudence sent Ferdy away at my bidding, it shows that sh............