ngton Gardens," Edwards remarked.

"Yes; after the murder of Marie Bracq, he lost no time in disposing of
the concession."

"It's a lie!" cried the accused. "That girl there killed her. I
didn't--she was jealous of her!"

My love shrank at the man's words, yet still clinging to me, her
beautiful countenance pale as death, her lips half parted, her eyes
staring straight in front of her.

"Phrida," I said in a low voice, full of sympathy, "you hear what this
man has alleged? Now that the truth is being told, will you, too, not
speak? Speak!" I cried in my despair, "speak, dearest, I beg of you!"

"No," she sighed. "You--you would turn from me--you would hate me!"

And at her words Cane burst into a peal of harsh, triumphant laughter.

CHAPTER XXXI.

SHOWS THE TRUTH-TELLER.

"Speak, laidee," urged the Peruvian. "Speak--tell truth. Senos know--he
know!"

But my love was still obdurate.

"I prefer to face death," she whispered, "than to reveal the bitter truth
to you, dear."

What could I do? The others heard her words, and Cane was full of
triumph.

"I think, Miss Shand, that you should now tell whatever you know of this
complicated affair. The truth will certainly have to be threshed out in a
criminal court."

But she made no answer, standing there, swaying slightly, with her white
face devoid of expression.

"Let Senos tell you some-tings," urged the narrow-eyed native. "When that
man kill my master he fly to Lisbon. There Mrs. Petre meet him and go
London. There he become Sir Digby Kemsley, and I see him often, often,
because I crossed as stoker on same boat. He go to Luxemburg. I follow.
One day he see Grand Duke's daughter--pretty young laidee--and somebody
tell him she go to Egypt. She go, and he follow. I wait in Marseilles. I
sell my rugs, wait three, four weeks and meet each steamer from
Alexandria. At last he come with three laidees, and go to the Louvre et
Paix, where I sell my rugs outside the cafe. I see he always with
her--walking, driving, laughing. I want to tell her the truth--that the
man is not my master, but his assassin. Ah! but no opportunity. They go
to Paris. Then she and the laidees go to Luxemburg, and he to London. I
follow her, and stay in Luxemburg to sell my shawls, and to see her. She
drive out of the palace every day. Once I try and speak to her, but
police arrest me and keep me prison two days--ugh! After a week she with
another laidee go to Paris; then she alone