ime that it should be silence for silence. It was a bargain which we
have kept ever since. You have married Jack Cullerton, and you are
happy except that your husband is a born gambler. And of that he must
be cured."

"I know. I know!" she said hastily. "But earlier this evening you
promised to tell me about Gabrielle. I must see her. She seems to have
disappeared. Where is she?"

"In London, I believe."

"In London! Yet the last time you spoke of her you said she was in
Turin, on her way here, to Florence."

Oswald De Gex laughed lightly.

"Yes. She came to Florence for a few days, but she has returned to
London. Why are you so anxious to see her?"

"I want to see her about a matter which concerns Jack and
myself--that's all," replied young Mrs. Cullerton.

"May I not know?" asked her host.

"It is a purely private matter," was her reply.

Then from the conversation that followed, it seemed as though the
millionaire was apprehensive lest she should meet the mysterious
Gabrielle, and I wondered whether it was in order to prevent them
meeting that he entertained designs upon her life.

I recollected that little glass tube which he was carrying in secret
in his pocket, and which the scoundrelly Italian had urged him to
refrain from using because he might place his own life in jeopardy.

I listened to every word. De Gex was evidently most anxious to know
why she sought Gabrielle so eagerly. And Gabrielle, I could only
surmise, was the girl I had seen stark and dead in that handsome room
in Stretton Street.

That night of watchfulness had borne fruit. I had learnt from De Gex's
own lips that another deep and subtle trap was to be laid for me--a
trap baited with the tragic-faced girl herself. Further, I had
established that he intended that, sooner or later, an accident should
befall the dainty little woman in that rich ermine cloak, the woman
with whom he was chatting so affably. Also I had learned her identity,
and it now remained for me to forewarn her of what was intended.

The rich Englishman had talked for about a quarter of an hour with
Dorothy Cullerton, when at last they returned to the house, while I
made my way in the darkness back to the gate. When I arrived, however,
I found that Moroni had locked it after him. I was therefore compelled
to climb the wrought ironwork, and after several unsuccessful attempts
succeeded in regaining the road.

It was long past midnight ere I found myself back in Fi