hment. "I only wanted to look at it,"
he said courteously. "I like your grit as much as I admire your
beauty. Keep the ring."

She slipped it mechanically over her finger.

"But you, my dear Mr. Comstalk!" he cried, turning his shining eyes
upon me, while his fingers deftly replaced the gems in the bag.

"I have no jewelry," I replied, tossing aside the cigarette.

"But you have something infinitely better. I am rather observant. In
Friard's curio-shop you carelessly exhibited a wallet that was simply
choking to death with long yellow-boys. You have it still. Will you
do me the honor?"--stretching out his slim white hand.

I looked at William; he nodded. There wasn't the slightest chance for
me to argue. So I drew out my wallet. I extracted the gold-bills and
made a neat little packet of them. It hurt, hurt like the deuce, to
part with them. But--!

"Game, William, isn't he? Most men would have flung the wallet at my
head."

"Oh, he is game, sir; never you doubt it, sir," said the amiable
William.

"I have some silver in change," I suggested with some bitterness.

"Far be it that I should touch silver," he said generously, did this
rogue. "Besides, you will need something to pay for this little supper
and the fare back to New York." My bills disappeared into his pocket.
"You will observe that I trust you implicitly. I haven't even counted
the money."

William sniggered.

"And is there anything further?" I inquired. The comedy was beginning
to weary me, it was so one-sided.

"I am in no particular hurry," the rogue answered, his sardonic smile
returning. "It is so long since I have chatted with people of my kind."

I scowled.

"Pardon me, I meant from a social point of view only. I admit we would
not be equals in the eye of the Presbyter."

And then followed a scene that reminds me to this day of some broken,
fantastic dream, a fragment from some bewildering nightmare.

IX

For suddenly I saw his eyes widen and flash with anger and
apprehension. Quick as a passing sunshadow, his hand swept the
candelabrum from the table. He made a swift backward spring toward the
door, but he was a little too late. The darkness he had created was
not intense enough, for there was still the ruddy glow from the logs;
and the bosom of his dress-shirt made a fine target. Besides, the eyes
that had peered into the window were accustomed to the night.

Blang! The glass of the window shivere