sked.

She passed him a telegram. It was from Paris, and it was signed Gilbert
Deyes.

"Jean le Roi was free yesterday. Left immediately for England."

Macheson looked up. He did not understand.

"And who," he asked, "is Jean le Roi?"

She looked him in the eyes.

"My husband," she told him quietly. "At least that is what I suppose the
law would say that he was."

Macheson had been prepared for something surprising, but not for this.
He looked at her incredulously. He found himself aimlessly repeating her
words.

"Your husband?"

"I was married five years ago in Paris," she said in a dull, emotionless
tone. "No one over here knows about it, or has seen him, because he has
been in prison all the time. It was I who sent him there."

"I can't believe this," he said, in a low tone. "It is too amazing."

Then a light broke in upon him and he began to understand.

"He is in England now," she said, "and I am afraid."

"Jean le Roi?" he muttered.

"King of the Apaches," she answered bitterly. "'The greatest rogue in
Paris,' they said, when they sentenced him."

"Sentenced him!" he repeated, bewildered.

"He has been in prison since the day we were married," she continued.
"It was I who sent him there."

He bowed his head. He felt that it was not right to look at her. An
infinite wave of tenderness swept through his whole being. He was
ashamed of his past thoughts of her, of his hasty judgments. All the
time she had been carrying this in her bosom. Her very pride seemed to
him now magnificent. He felt suddenly like a querulous child.

"What can I do to help you?" he asked softly.

She came a little nearer to him.

"I am afraid," she said, dropping her voice almost to a whisper. "Ever
since I heard the story of his life, as it was told in court, I have
been afraid. When he was taken, he swore to be revenged. For the last
twenty-four hours I have felt somehow that he was near! Read this!"

She passed him a letter. The notepaper was thick and expensive, and
headed by a small coronet.

"My dearest wife," it began. "At last this miserable separation
comes to an end! I am here in London, on my way to you! Prepare
to throw yourself into my arms. How much too long has our
happiness been deferred!

"I should have been with you before, dear Wilhelmina, but for
more sordid considerations. I need money. I need money very
badly. Send me, please, a thousand pounds to-morrow betw