! You've kept them!" he hissed between his teeth, for he was in a
fury of fierce anger at having been so deceived. "It's no use lying. I
mean to have them, or go straight to this man Bracondale."

"I'm telling the truth!" protested the unhappy woman. "They were there
half an hour ago. I put them there."

"Bah! Don't tell me that! They could not have gone without hands. No,
you've worked a real slick trick! And I was fool enough to trust you!
Come, hand them over at once--if you don't want Bracondale to know," and
he again forced her farther back over the table. "He'll be here in a
minute. What a nice scene for him--eh? Come, where are those pearls?"

"I've told you I don't know. It's the truth, Ralph, I swear it!" she
cried, in wild despair. "Somebody must have stolen them!"

"You liar!" he cried, his face white with evil passion. "Do you dare to
tell me that? Do you think I'm a fool to believe such a story? Stolen!
Of course they're not stolen. You've hidden them. Yes," he added,
"you've been devilish clever to get that letter out of me, and burn it
before my eyes--haven't you--eh? But you shall pay for it!" he cried,
between his teeth, as his strong hands compressed her throat until she
went scarlet and her wild, glaring eyes started from her head.

She tried to cry out--tried to shriek and raise an alarm, for she knew
her life was in danger. But she could utter no sound beyond a low
gurgle.

"You refuse to give me the pearls--eh?" he said, his dark brows knit,
and murder in his piercing eyes. "You think to trick me--your husband!
By gad! You shall pay for this! Tell me where they are. This is your
last moment. You shall die--die--curse you!" And his grip tightened upon
her thin, white throat--the grip of a murderer.

Jean, unable to move, unable to cry out, felt herself fainting, when
next second she was startled by a sharp pistol shot.

"Ah!" gasped her assailant, releasing his hold instantly and clapping
his right hand to his back.

The shot had been fired from behind.

"Ah!" cried the wounded man in wild despair. "I--why, I----"

Then he reeled completely round and fell backward upon the
carpet--inert--dead!

At the same instant Jean, staggered by the suddenness of it all, was
confronted by a ragged, unkempt, hatless man in a striped jacket some
sizes too big for him. Around his neck was a dirty scarf in lieu of a
collar, and his dark hair was curly and ruffled.

She saw the man emerge from the curt