Swiftly he took up the pearls and, bending, placed them in the dead
man's pocket. Then, having done this, he said:

"Your explanation is quite a simple one. You came in here unexpectedly,
and found the man--a perfect stranger to you, and a burglar, evidently,
from the fact that he wore gloves--taking your pearls from their case.
You demanded them back, but he turned upon you with a revolver. There
was a struggle for the weapon. You twisted his hand back, and in the
fight it went off. And he fell dead. Keep cool. That is your story."

"But I----"

"That is the only story, madame," he said firmly. "It is a lie, I
admit--but a white lie--the only explanation you can give, if you would
still preserve your secret."

Footsteps sounded out in the hall, and therefore there was not a second
to waste.

The thief grasped her thin, white hand and, bending devotedly, kissed
it.

"Adieu, madame. May Heaven assist and preserve you in future!" he
whispered, and next moment he had disappeared behind the curtain and
dropped over the verandah.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE WHITE LIE.

For a few seconds Jean stood motionless, staring at the lifeless body of
her husband, who lay with face upturned, the evil eyes closed, the hands
listless by his sides.

His head was towards the window, close to a small gilt settee, his feet
towards the door.

She stood with her eyes full of horror, fixed upon the white, dead face.

In that dread moment a veritable lifetime of despair swept through her
fevered brain.

The servants, with hushed, terrified voices, were searching the rooms on
the ground floor. She could hear Miss Oliver speaking.

Their footsteps sounded on the big, tiled hall outside the door. What if
Adolphe were captured leaving the premises?

She held her breath. All her self-possession was required now, for she
also recognised Bracondale's voice. He had returned!

Was silence judicious in those circumstances? She decided it was not.
Therefore she gave vent to a loud scream--a scream which told them where
she was.

In a moment they all burst into the room--Bracondale in his evening
clothes, Miss Oliver in her dressing-gown, and the two footmen, who had
hastily dressed, one of them without his coat.

The servants, seeing a man lying upon the carpet, halted upon the
threshold, but Bracondale dashed forward to his wife, who stood with her
hands to her brow in frantic terror. She was, he saw, on the verge of
fainting. T