f his shoe. "Because," he added, reloading
his revolver, "I do not like it."

He turned quietly to Mornac and ordered the corpse to be buried, and
Mornac, plainly unnerved at the murderous act of his superior,
repeated the order, cursing his men to cover the quaver in his voice.

"As for you," observed Buckhurst, glancing up at us where we stood
speechless together, "you will be judged and sentenced when this
drum-head court decides. Go into that room!"

The Countess did not move.

Speed touched her arm; she looked up quietly, smiled, and stepped
across the threshold. Speed followed; Jacqueline slipped in beside
him, and then I turned on Buckhurst, who had just ordered his soldiers
to surround the house outside.

"As a matter of fact," I said, when the last armed ruffian had
departed, "I am the only person in this house who has interfered with
your affairs. The others have done nothing to harm you."

"The court will decide that," he replied, balancing his revolver in
his palm.

I eyed him for an instant. "Do you mean harm to this unfortunate
woman?" I asked.

"My friend," he replied, in a low voice, "you have very stupidly
upset plans that have cost me months to perfect. You have, by stopping
that train, robbed me of something less than twenty millions of
francs. I have my labor for my pains; I have this mob of fools on my
hands; I may lose my life through this whim of yours; and if I don't,
I have it all to begin again. And you ask me what I am going to do!"

His eyes glittered.

"If I strike her I strike you. Ask yourself whether or not I will
strike."

All the blood seemed to leave my heart; I straightened up with an
effort.

"There are some murders," I said, "that even you must recoil at."

"I don't think you appreciate me," he replied, with a deathly smile.

He motioned toward the door with levelled weapon. I turned and entered
the tea-room, and he locked the door from the outside.

The Countess, seated on the sofa, looked up as I appeared. She was
terribly pale, but she smiled as my heavy eyes met hers.

"Is it to be farce or tragedy, monsieur?" she asked, without a tremor
in her clear voice.

I could not have uttered a word to save my life. Speed, pacing the
room, turned to read my face; and I think he read it, for he stopped
short in his tracks. Jacqueline, watching him with blue, inscrutable
eyes, turned sharply toward the window and peered out into the
darkness.

Beyond the wall of the