The Woman with One Hand, and Mr. Ely's Engagement. Marsh Richard

you which the papers had to tell, and that was not a little! So we are not exactly strangers. At least, that is, you are not wholly a stranger to me. Besides which, I myself once knew a person whose name was Southam."

      I started. The woman's eyes were fixed on me, although she pretended to be trifling with her dress.

      "You knew a person whose name was Southam. Indeed! Who was it, a man or a woman?"

      She ignored my question.

      "Have you any relatives of your own name?

      "Not that I am aware of, though there seems to be more than one Southam about in the world. What Southam was it you knew?"

      Her tone was ostentatiously indifferent. "Oh, it doesn't matter. It was a long time ago, and, as you say, I suppose there are heaps of Southams about in the world. I only wanted to explain to you that you were not so absolutely unknown to me as the fact that this is our first actual meeting might lead you to imagine. Will you allow me to ask if you are still seeking employment? I thought, from what I read in the papers, that it was just possible you might be."

      "You have supposed correctly. I am."

      "Would you like to fill the post of secretary?"

      "Of secretary?" I paused for a moment to consider-not the suggestion of such a post, but the source from whence the suggestion came. "To whom?"

      "To me."

      "It is very kind of you, but do you clearly understand, madam, that you are speaking to a person whose character is under a cloud?"

      "Because you were suspected of having murdered that man?"

      Her question was brutal in its candour.

      "Precisely. Because I was suspected, and, for all I know, still am."

      "The people who suspected you were fools. I will back my capacity as a judge of character, even at sight, against their suspicions. You are not of the stuff of which murderers are made."

      Her tone was short and sharp-I had almost written sarcastic-as if she thought it a shame to a man not to be made of the stuff of which murderers are. She went on, speaking quickly, even brusquely.

      "I will trust you, if you, on your part, will trust me. As I have told you, and as I will prove to you, if-as I almost believe-you doubt me, I have lost my hand. See!" Hastily, before I could stop her, she began to unbutton her right glove. She only unloosed a button or two, when the whole thing, glove, hand and all, came clean away, and she held out towards me her handless arm. I stared, at a loss for words, not a little shocked-the disfigurement was so dreadful, and seemed to have been so recent. Her voice grew bitter. "I lost that hand under circumstances which impressed its loss upon my memory. As it were, I seem to be losing it anew, every hour of every day. It has left me impotent. Will you relieve my impotence? Will you become my secretary? There will not be much for you to do, but there will be something; the salary which I shall pay you will not be a large one, but it will, perhaps, suffice till something better offers; I will give you a hundred pounds a year, and, as they say in the advertisements, all found. Do not give me your answer at once. It may be that I shall stay in the hotel some time, and, at any rate, while I am here, possibly you will not refuse to act as my amanuensis. You can see with your own eyes how much I am in want of one."