"The Museum ring is a copy, dear Cairn," came the huskily musical,
hateful voice; "the one upon my finger is the real one."

Cairn realised in his own person, the literal meaning of the
overworked phrase, "frozen with amazement." Before him stood the most
dangerous man in Europe; a man who had done murder and worse; a man
only in name, a demon in nature. His long black eyes half-closed, his
perfectly chiselled ivory face expressionless, and his blood-red lips
parted in a mirthless smile, Antony Ferrara watched Cairn--Cairn whom
he had sought to murder by means of hellish art.

Despite the heat of the day, he wore a heavy overcoat, lined with
white fox fur. In his right hand--for his left still rested upon the
case--he held a soft hat. With an easy nonchalance, he stood regarding
the man who had sworn to kill him, and the latter made no move,
uttered no word. Stark amazement held him inert.

"I knew that you were in the Museum, Cairn," Ferrara continued, still
having his basilisk eyes fixed upon the other from beneath the
drooping lids, "and I called to you to join me here."

Still Cairn did not move, did not speak.

"You have acted very harshly towards me in the past, dear Cairn; but
because my philosophy consists in an admirable blending of that
practised in Sybaris with that advocated by the excellent Zeno;
because whilst I am prepared to make my home in a Diogenes' tub, I,
nevertheless, can enjoy the fragrance of a rose, the flavour of a
peach--"

The husky voice seemed to be hypnotising Cairn; it was a siren's
voice, thralling him.

"Because," continued Ferrara evenly, "in common with all humanity I am
compound of man and woman, I can resent the enmity which drives me
from shore to shore, but being myself a connoisseur of the red lips
and laughing eyes of maidenhood--I am thinking, more particularly of
Myra--I can forgive you, dear Cairn--"

Then Cairn recovered himself.

"You white-faced cur!" he snarled through clenched teeth; his knuckles
whitened as he stepped around the case. "You dare to stand there
mocking me--"

Ferrara again placed the case between himself and his enemy.

"Pause, my dear Cairn," he said, without emotion. "What would you do?
Be discreet, dear Cairn; reflect that I have only to call an attendant
in order to have you pitched ignominiously into the street."

"Before God! I will throttle the life from you!" said Cairn, in a
voice savagely hoarse.

He sprang again towards Ferra