ia's sub-conscious mind
the thought of Anna Wolsky, and of what she now knew to have been Anna
Wolsky's fate.

But she put that thought, that awful knowledge, determinedly away from
her. The instinct of self-preservation possessed her wholly.

Already, in far less time than it would have taken to formulate the
words, she had made up her mind to speak, and she knew exactly what she
meant to say.

"It does not matter about my pearls," Sylvia said, quietly. Her voice
shook a little, but otherwise she spoke in her usual tone. "If you are
going into Paris to-morrow morning, perhaps you would take them to be
restrung?"

The man looked questioningly across at his wife.

"Yes, that sounds a good plan," he said, in his guttural voice.

"No," exclaimed Madame Wachner, decidedly, "that will not do at all! We
must not run that risk. The pearls must be found, now, at once! Stoop!"
she said imperiously. "Stoop, Sylvia! Help me to find your pearls!"

She made a gesture as if she also meant to bend down....

But Sylvia Bailey made no attempt to obey the sinister order. Slowly,
warily she edged herself towards the closed window. At last she stood
with her back to it--at bay.

"No," she said quietly, "I will not stoop to pick up my pearls now,
Madame Wachner. It will be easier to find them in the daylight. I am sure
that Monsieur Wachner could pick them all up for me to-morrow morning. Is
not that so, Ami Fritz?" and there was a tone of pleading, for the first
time of pitiful fear, in her soft voice.

She looked at him piteously, her large blue eyes wide open, dilated--

"It is not my husband's business to pick up your pearls!" exclaimed
Madame Wachner harshly.

She stepped forward and gripped Sylvia by the arm, pulling her violently
forward. As she did so she made a sign to her husband, and he pushed a
chair quickly between Mrs. Bailey and the window.

Sylvia had lost her point of vantage, but she was young and lithe; she
kept her feet.

Nevertheless, she knew with a cold, reasoned knowledge that she was very
near to death--that it was only a question of minutes,--unless--unless
she could make the man and woman before her understand that they would
gain far more money by allowing her to live than by killing her now,
to-night, for the value of the pearls that lay scattered on the floor,
and the small, the pitiably small sum on her person.

"If you will let me go," she said, desperately, "I swear I will give you
everyth