o circumspect!

I sprang at his throat, to prevent him speaking further.

"You shall not do this!" I cried.

But his reply was only a hoarse laugh of triumph.

He was asking for somebody--his friend, the chief of police! Then
turning to me with a laugh, he said:

"Straus will undoubtedly be pleased to arrest such big game as
yourself."

As he uttered the words there sounded a low tap upon the door, and next
second it opened, revealing the neat figure in pale blue.

Pierron turned quickly, but in an instant his face was blanched.

"_Dieu! Suzette!_" he gasped, staring at her, while she stood upon the
threshold, a strange look overspreading her countenance as she
recognised him.

"Ah! Look, M'sieur Jacox!" she shrieked a second later. "Yes--yes, it is
that man!" she went on, pointing her finger at him. "At last! Thank God!
I have found him!"

"What do you mean?" I demanded. "This is M'sieur Pierron."

"I tell you," she cried, "that is the man whom I saw at the Rue de
Royat--the man who strangled poor Madame Levitsky!"

"You lie!" he cried, stepping towards her. "I--I've never seen you
before!"

"And yet you have just uttered mademoiselle's name, m'sieur," I remarked
quietly.

"He knows that I was present at the time of the tragedy," exclaimed
Suzette quickly, "and that he was the paid assassin of Henry Banfield.
He killed the unfortunate woman for two reasons: first, in order to
obtain her husband's papers, which had both political and financial
importance; and secondly, to obtain her jewellery, which was of very
considerable value. And upon me, because I was defenceless, the guilt
was placed. They said I was jealous of her."

"Suzette," I said slowly, "leave this man to me."

Then, glancing towards him, I saw what a terrible effect her
denunciation had had upon him. Pale to the lips, he stood cowed, even
trembling, for before him was the living witness of his crime.

I stood with my back to the door, barring his escape.

"Now," I said, "what is your defence?"

He was silent.

I repeated my question in a hard, distinct voice.

"Let's cry quits," he said in a low, hoarse tone. "I will preserve your
secret--if you will keep mine. Will you not accept terms?"

"Not those," I replied promptly. "Suzette has been accused by Banfield,
and by you, of the crime which you committed. She shall therefore name
her own terms."

Realising that, by the fortunate discovery of the assassin of Madame
Levitsky,