k!" his master thundered. "Is this a time to stand agape?
Sybilla, sound the alarm! Let all rise and join in the search."

In a moment all was confusion. Claudine, of a highly excitable
temperament, no sooner recovered from her stupor of dismay, then, with
a piercing shriek, she fainted and tumbled over in a heap.

But no one heeded her. Bells rang, lights flashed, servants, white and
wild, rushed to and fro, and over all the voice of the master rang,
giving his orders.

"Lights, lights!" he shouted. "Men, why do you linger and stare?
Lights! and follow me to the stone terrace."

He led the way. There was a general rush from the house. The men bore
lanterns; the women clung to the men, terror and curiosity struggling,
but curiosity getting the better of it. In dead silence all made their
way to the stone terrace--all but one.

Sybilla Silver saw them depart, stood a moment, irresolute, then turned
and sped away to Sir Everard's dressing-room. She drew the compact
bundle of clothes from their corner, removed the dagger, tied up the
bundle again with the weight inside, and hurriedly left the house.

"These blood-stained garments are not needed to fix the guilt upon
him," she said to herself: "that is done already. The appearance of
these would only create confusion and perplexity--perhaps help his
cause. I'll destroy these and fling away the dagger in the wood.
They'll he sure to find it in a day or two. They will make such a
search that if a needle were lost it would be found."

There was an old sunken well, half filled with slimy, green water, mud,
and filth, in a remote end of the plantation. Thither, unobserved,
Sybilla made her way in the ghostly moonlight and flung her
blood-stained bundle into its vile, poisonous depths.

"Lie there!" she muttered. "You have done your work, and I fling you
away, as I fling away all my tools at my pleasure. There, in the green
muck and slimy filth, you will tell no tales."

She hurried away and struck into a path leading to the stone terrace.
She could see the lanterns flashing like firefly sparks; she could hear
the clear voice of Sir Everard Kingsland commanding. All at once the
lights were still, there was a deep exclamation in the baronet's voice,
a wild chorus of feminine screams, then blank silence.

Sybilla Silver threw the dagger, with a quick, fierce gesture, into the
wood, and sprung in among them with glistening, greedy black eyes.
They stood in