h, poor tortured girl!--and I used to suspect that
she was mercenary. But, thank Heaven, Ralston didn't die, as he expected
so soon to do when he made that hurried will. The woman he truly loves
was never married before, and is his legal wife. Now, when she goes back
to him and he hears the whole truth he will be so happy that he'll live
for years, strong and well."

"I don't believe even you can induce Mary-Rose to go back to Ralston
Murray," Mrs. Brandreth said. "She wouldn't think he could forgive her
for deceiving him."

"He could forgive her anything after what he went through in losing
her," I said. "When you've told me where to find your sister, I will
tell her that--and a lot more things besides."

"Well, if you can make her see your point of view!" Mrs. Brandreth
grudged. "If _my_ secret is kept, I hope Mary-Rose may be happy. I don't
grudge her Ralston Murray or his fortune; but when she feels herself
_quite_ safe as his wife she can pay me my thousand pounds."

"She _has_ paid you, and more, with her heart's blood!" I exclaimed.
"Where is she?"

"In New York. She told me she could never go to England again after what
had happened there. She seems awfully down, and I left her deciding
whether she should enter a charitable sisterhood. They take girls
without money, if they'll work in the slums, and Mary-Rose was anxious
to do that."

"She won't be when she understands what work lies before her across the
sea," I retorted.

Even as I spoke--and as Mrs. Guy Brandreth was writing down her sister's
address--I mentally marshalled the arguments I would use: the need to
save Ralston from himself, and above all from Paul and Gaby Jennings.
But, oh, the sudden stab I felt as those names came to my mind!

_How_ keep the secret when Gaby Jennings had known the real Rosemary
Brandreth in Baltimore? All the complications would have to be explained
to her, if she were not to spread scandal--if she were not to whisper
revengefully among her friends: "Ralston Murray isn't really married to
his wife. I could have her arrested as a bigamist if I chose!"

It was an awful question, that question of Gaby Jennings. But the answer
came like balm, after the stab, and that answer was--"_The pictures._"

By the time Jim and I reached England again, taking Mary-Rose with us,
my tame detective would have got at the truth about the stolen
treasures, and who had made the copies. Then all that Ralston need do
would be to say: "Te