ght
intended to strangle me.

My only chance was to keep cool. So I grunted in pretense of being
only half-awake, and turning very slightly to my side, my hand slowly
reached against my pillow. At any second the cord might be drawn tight
when all chance of giving the alarm would be swept away from me. Yet
my assailant was deliberate, apparently in order to make quite certain
that the cord around my neck should effect its fatal purpose.

Of a sudden I grasped what I had against my pillow--a small rubber
ball--and suddenly shooting out my hand in his direction, squeezed it.

A yell of excruciating pain rang through the hotel, and he sprang
back, releasing his hold upon the cord.

Then next moment, when I switched on the light, I found the man Hauser
dancing about my room, his face covered with his hands--blinded, and
his countenance burnt by the dose of sulphuric acid I had, in
self-defense, squirted full into it.

For defense against secret attack the rubber ball filled with acid
Rayne always compelled me to carry, as being far preferable to
revolver, knife or sword-cane. It is easily carried, easily concealed
in the palm of the hand, makes no noise, and if used suddenly is
entirely efficacious.

My assailant, blinded, shrieking with pain, and his face forever
scarred, quickly disappeared to make what excuse he might. Later I
found that he had previously tampered with the brass bolt of my door
by removing the screws of the socket, enlarging the holes and
embedding the screws in soft putty so that on turning the handle and
pressing the door the socket gave way and fell noiselessly upon the
carpet!

This attempt upon me at once proved that I was on the right scent, and
according to Rayne's instructions I that day followed Madame and Lola
back to Salerno.

On changing trains at the Central Station at Rome I bought a
newspaper, and the first heading that met my eyes was one which told
of a mysterious robbery of the wonderful pearls of the Princess di
Acquanero.

With avidity I read that the young Princess, as noted for her beauty
as for her jewels, the only daughter of the millionaire Italian
shipowner Andrea Ottone, of Genoa, who had married the Prince a year
ago, had been robbed of her famous string of pearls under most
mysterious circumstances.

Two days before she had been staying at the great Castello di
Antigniano, near Bari, where her uncle, the Baron Bertolini, had been
entertaining a party of friends.