her jealous
temperament, she was not the woman to give an understudy too big a
chance.

At last the Opera was over, the brilliant crowd filed out. Corsini
went round to the wings to inquire after La Belle Quero. One of his
subordinates gave him the information he sought.

"Madame Quero is very ill, Signor. The doctor was called in. He did
not seem quite able to diagnose her symptoms. He had her conveyed home
and consigned to the care of her own maid and her own physician."

Corsini at once despatched a messenger to the villa, with instructions
to report to him at his hotel. The man came back with disquieting
news. The singer was still in a comatose state, and her life was
despaired of.

A swift thought swept through the Italian's mind. Had Zouroff anything
to do with this, apparently, fatal illness? Had he discovered the part
she had played in his rescue?

And a still more disturbing thought assailed him. If the Prince had
taken this swift vengeance on La Belle Quero, it would not be long
before he revenged himself on Nada. If only he could have conveyed a
message to that box, to entreat her to fly before it was too late!
Zouroff was evidently a scoundrel of the deepest dye who would stick
at nothing.

But he could not act himself. Very shortly he must go to the mean
lodging of Ivan, and receive his instructions as to taking the place
of the deaf and dumb Stepan. In a brief space he would be inside that
villa where the beautiful singer lay dying.

He did the best that presented itself to him. He despatched a brief
note to Beilski.

"Madame Quero attacked with sudden illness. It is reported that she is
dying. I have certain suspicions of a person well known to us both.
Please probe the matter. I cannot go myself. You know where I am due
to-night."

A little later, Corsini, escorted by his vigilant bodyguard, took his
way to the mean quarter of the town where Ivan was lodged.

CHAPTER XXII

Ivan met him in the doorway. "You are punctual, Signor," he said, as
he ushered him into the shabby apartment.

"My friend, first of all, you are no longer an outlaw," cried Corsini
cheerfully as he cast his glance round the dingy room. "The Emperor
himself has graciously accorded a full and free pardon, and if this
night's work turns out well, there will be a very handsome reward in
addition. So, you see, things are marching."

The outlaw stretched his hands out, and for a moment it seemed as if
he would dis