ter, or the ruby he 's sweat blood to
get. . . . Won't let his daughter marry a man that has a drop of this
'hound's' blood in his veins, hey?" Page had snarled. "Well, you just
watch the old 'hound' close his jaws." Suddenly he became the
masterful, domineering man the world knew; he addressed Maillot in the
curt, incisive tones which never failed to exact obedience.

"You tell him this, young man, exactly as I am telling it to you. Tell
him you have performed your part of the bargain; tell him that the
second Miss Belle is yours, the ruby shall be his; tell him he shall
never get his hands on it one tick of the clock before.

"He won't hesitate; I know Alfred Fluette. If you follow my
instructions explicitly, the young lady will be Mrs. Royal Maillot by
this time tomorrow night. If I 'm not very much mistaken, he 'll be
the most astounded man in the world when you open the box. You want to
do it, too--open it under his nose; dazzle his eyes--hypnotize him with
its blood-red flame." He had been working himself slowly into a
passion; now it ended in a violent outburst. "Make the old dog get
down on his hunkers and beg, d'ye hear? Make him whine! Then close
the box and put it in your pocket. . . . A 'hound,' am I?"

He sat silent for a while, then went on quite calmly, in his former
concise manner.

"I 'll give you a line over my signature--he has mighty good reasons
for recognizing it on sight--so he can't dispute your right to bargain
with him. Then--"

Maillot's eagerness and impatience were so intense that he had been
unable to restrain himself when the old gentleman lapsed most
vexatiously into a revery.

"Well?" Maillot had urged.

"Marry the girl. Then give Fluette the Paternoster ruby. Bring your
wife to me--for after all is said and done, Royal, I 'm a lonely old
man. I 'll see you started on a honeymoon that will make old Fluette
open his eyes still wider. You never heard that I was stingy when I
wanted to gratify a whim, did you? Well, it's my whim that this thing
be done in the best style. I 'll have to leave that part of it to you.
You just go ahead and do the proper thing--and send me the bills. . . .
_Hound_? Bah!"

Mr. Page sat toying with the jewel-box many minutes before he expressed
himself as confident that Maillot would carry out his instructions to
the letter; then, without warning, he pressed the spring and the lid
flew open.

The gem lay between them like a splash o