ould be worse than ever. I thought you
were too English for that," she said naively.

He smiled. "Well, perhaps I am, but I suppose there may be a bit of a
scuffle. You won't mind that?"

"I don't know," she said helplessly.

A moment later they heard the gate creak as it swung on its hinges.
"He is coming."

They kissed hurriedly, with, on her side, a passion of farewell, and
he would have made her go into the room beyond, but she clung to him,
crying incoherently. "No ... no ... together ..."

Tor di Rocca stopped short by the door; the smile that had been in his
hot eyes as they met Olive's faded, and the short, Neronic upper lip
lifted in a sort of snarl.

"I don't quite understand," he said. "How did you come here? This is
my house, Avenel."

"I know it, and I do not wish to trespass on your hospitality. You
will excuse us?"

But the Prince stood in the way. "I am not a child to be played with.
I'll not let her go. You may leave us, however," he added, and he
stood aside as though to let him pass.

Jean met his angry eyes. "The lady is unwilling. Let that be the end,"
he said quietly.

Olive watched the Italian fearfully; his face was writhen, and all
semblance of beauty had gone out of it; its gnawing, tearing, animal
ferocity was appalling. When he called to her she moved instinctively
nearer to Jean, and then with the swift prescience of love threw
herself on his breast, tried to shelter him, as the other drew his
revolver and fired.

Jean had his arm about her, but he let her slip now and fall in a
huddled heap at his feet. She was safer there, and out of the way. The
two men exchanged several shots, but Jean's went wide; he was hampered
by his heavy motor coat, and the second bullet had scored its way
through his flesh before he could get at his weapon; there were four
in his body when he dropped.

Tor di Rocca leant against the wall; he was unhurt, but he felt a
little faint and sick for the moment. Hurriedly he rehearsed what he
should say to the _Questore_ presently. He had met the girl in this
house of his; Avenel, her lover, had broken in upon them; he had shot
her and fired at the Prince himself, but without effect, and he had
killed him in self-defence.

That was plain enough, but it was essential that his should be the
only version, and when the smoke cleared away he crossed the room to
look at the two who must speak no word, and to make sure.

The man was still alive for all the le