purpose that the room sprang instantly into brilliant light.

There was a scream from the hooded figure in the middle of the floor--a
scream of mingled anger, defiance and terror which rang in Anstice's
ears for hours afterwards, and following the scream a mad, wild rush for
the door--a blundering, stumbling rush in which the very garment, the
long, loose cloak which was intended for a disguise, proved itself a
handicap and effectually prevented its wearer making good her escape. By
the time she had torn herself free of the encumbering folds which
threatened to trip her up at every step Anstice had reached the door;
and now he stood before it with something in his face which warned the
panting creature in front of him that the way of escape was effectually
barred.

Still hiding her face in the folds of her garment she turned round as
though to rush towards the window and seek egress thereby; but facing
her stood Major Carstairs, and the wretched culprit realized, too late,
that she was trapped.

Yet as a cornered hare will turn and give battle, desperately, to her
eager foes, the woman made a frantic rush as though to pass the avenging
figure which stood in her path; and as she did so Major Carstairs moved
forward and plucked the black hood with no gentle hand from the face it
had so far partially concealed.

And as with wildly beating pulses Anstice bent forward to catch a
glimpse of the mysterious visitor he knew that his surmise, unlikely as
it had seemed, had been correct; that by a stroke of luck the expert,
Clive, had been able to point unerringly to the clue which was to solve
the mystery of those vile letters and restore to an innocent woman the
fair name which had been so unjustly smirched.

For the hooded figure was none other than Tochatti.

* * * * *

"My God! Then it _was_ you!" Major Carstairs' tone was so full of
disgust, of loathing, of the just indignation of a righteously angry man
that even Tochatti cowered in his grip; and as Anstice came forward the
other man turned to him with an expression of wrath which quite
transfigured his face. "Look at her, Anstice, the miserable, degraded
creature! To think that she has been with my wife all these
years--hanging over Cherry night and day--and all the time plotting this
infamous thing ... by the way, where is that letter?"

He broke off suddenly and Anstice came a step nearer the two.

"I see it, sir!" He had caught