sked.

"The Baroness is as well as she is likely to be for some time,"
Bernadine replied, grimly.

They were all in the study now. Upon a table stood a telephone
instrument. Bernadine drew a small revolver from his pocket.

"Baron de Grost," he said, "I find that you are not quite such a fool as
I thought you. Some one is ringing up for you on the telephone. You will
reply that you are well and safe and that you will be home as soon as
your business here is finished. Your wife is at the other end. If you
breathe a single word to her of your approaching end, she shall hear
through the telephone the sound of the revolver shot that sends you to
Hell."

"Dear me," Peter protested, "I find this most unpleasant. If you will
excuse me, I don't think I'll answer the call at all."

"You will answer it as I have directed," Bernadine insisted. "Only
remember this--if you speak a single ill-advised word, the end will be
as I have said."

Peter picked up the receiver and held it to his ear.

"Who is there?" he asked.

It was Violet whose voice he heard. He listened for a moment to her
anxious flood of questions.

"There is not the slightest cause to be alarmed, dear," he said. "Yes, I
am down at the High House, near St. Mary's. Bernadine is here. It seems
that those reports of his death were absolutely unfounded.... Danger?
Unprotected? Why, my dear Violet, you know how careful I always am.
Simply because Bernadine used once to live here, and because the
Baroness was his friend, I spoke to Sir John Dory over the telephone
before we left, and an escort of half-a-dozen police followed us. They
are about the place now, I have no doubt, but their presence is quite
unnecessary. I shall be home before long, dear.... Yes, perhaps it
would be as well to send the car down. Any one will direct him to the
house--the High House, St. Mary's, remember. Good-by!"

Peter replaced the receiver and turned slowly round. Bernadine was
smiling.

"You did well to reassure your wife, even though it was a pack of lies
you told her," he remarked.

Peter shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

"My dear Bernadine," he said, "up till now I have tried to take you
seriously. You are really passing the limit. I must positively ask you
to reflect a little. Do men who live the life that you and I live, trust
any one? Am I--is the Marquis de Sogrange here--after a lifetime of
experience, likely to leave the safety of our homes in company with a
lad