Might we ask you if you have ever seen him, if you knew him at all before this evening?” She stood up suddenly, and turning her back to them, looked steadily out of the window. “There ought to be a Censorship of Books. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. “It seems—It’s interesting.
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