y husband's
possession--locked up in his safe."

"Your husband!" repeated Ansell, affecting ignorance of the truth.

"Yes," she said hoarsely. "I have married, believing that you were
dead."

"And both pleased and relieved to think I was dead, without a doubt!" he
laughed, with a sneer.

She said nothing.

At that instant when she had raised her eyes and met him face to face
she knew that all her happiness had been shattered at a single
blow--that the shadow of evil which she had so long dreaded had at last
fallen to crush her.

No longer was she Countess of Bracondale, a happy wife and proud mother,
but the wife of a man who was not only a notorious thief, but an
assassin to boot.

Inwardly she breathed a prayer to Providence for assistance in that dark
hour. Her deep religious convictions, her faith in God, supported her at
that dark hour of her life, and she clasped her hands and held her
breath.

The man grinned, so confident was he of his power over her.

"I believed you were dead, or I would not have married again," she said
simply.

"Yes. You thought you had got rid of me, no doubt. But I think this
precious husband of yours will have a rather rough half-hour when he
knows how you've deceived him."

"I have told him no lie!"

"No? You told him nothing, I suppose. Silence is a lie sometimes."

"Yes. I have been silent regarding your crimes," she replied. "The
affair is not forgotten, I assure you. And a word from me will sentence
you to the punishment which all murderers well deserve."

"Good. Do it!" he laughed, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I wish you
would. You would be rid of me then--the widow of a murderer!"

"You killed Richard Harborne because you were paid to do so--paid by a
spy of Germany," she said, very slowly. "The report which my husband
possesses tells the truth. The British Secret Service has spared no
pains to elucidate the mystery of Harborne's death."

"Then they also know that I married you, I suppose? They know you are
wife of the guilty man--eh?"

She bit her lip. That thought had not recently occurred to her. Long
ago, when it had, she had quickly crushed it down, believing that Ralph
was dead. But, on the contrary, he was there, standing before her, the
grim vision of the long-buried past.

"Well," she asked suddenly, "what do you want with me now that you have
found me?"

"Not much. I dare say you and I can come to terms."

"What terms? I don't understand?"