"Good. Do it!" he laughed, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I wish you would. You would be rid of me then--the widow of a murderer!"

"You killed Richard Harborne because you were paid to do so--paid by a spy of Germany," she said, very slowly. "The report which my husband possesses tells the truth. The British Secret Service has spared no pains to elucidate the mystery of Harborne's death."

"Then they also know that I married you, I suppose? They know you are wife of the guilty man--eh?"

She bit her lip. That thought had not recently occurred to her. Long ago, when it had, she had quickly crushed it down, believing that Ralph was dead. But, on the contrary, he was there, standing before her, the grim vision of the long-buried past.

"Well," she asked suddenly, "what do you want with me now that you have found me?"

"Not much. I dare say you and I can come to terms."

"What terms? I don't understand?"

"You are my wife," he said. "Well, that is your secret--and mine. You want to close my mouth," he said roughly. "And of course you can do so--at a price."

"You want money in return for your silence?"

"Exactly, my dear girl. I am very sorry, but I have been a trifle unfortunate in my speculations of late. I'm a financier now."

She looked him straight in the face, her resolution rising. She hated that man whose hands were stained with the blood of Richard Harborne, who had been such a platonic friend to her.

"I wish you to understand, now and at once," she said, "that you will have nothing from me."

He smiled at her.

"Ah! I think you are just a little too hasty, my dear Jean," was his reply. "Remember you are my wife, and that fact you desire to keep a secret. Well, the secret is worth something, surely--even for the sake of your charming little girl."

"Yes," she said angrily. "You taunt me with my position--why? Because you want money--you, a thief and an a.s.sa.s.sin! No; you will have none. I will go to the police and have you arrested."

"Do, my dear girl. I wish you would do so, because then your true position as my wife will at once be plain. I shall not be Silas P.

Hoggan, homeless and penniless, but Ralph Ansell, husband of the wealthy Countess of Bracondale. Say--what a sensation it would cause in the halfpenny papers, wouldn't it?"

Jean shuddered, and shrank back.

"And you would be arrested for the murder of Richard Harborne--you, the hired a.s.sa.s.sin of the Baron," she retorted. "Oh, yes, all is known, I a.s.sure you. Not a year ago I found the report among Lord Bracondale's papers, and read it--every word."

"And how does he like his private papers being peered into, I wonder?"

"Well, at least I now know the truth. You killed Mr. Harborne, and, further, it was you who tampered with Lieutenant Barclay's aeroplane.

You can't deny it!"

"Why should I deny it? Harborne was your lover. You met him in secret at Mundesley on the previous afternoon. Therefore I killed two birds with one stone. A very alert secret agent was suppressed, and at the same time I was rid of a rival."

"He was not my lover!" she protested, her cheeks scarlet. "I loved you, and only you."

"Then why don't you love me now? Why not return and be a dutiful wife to me?"

"Return!" she gasped. "Never!"

"But I shall compel you. You married this man, Bracondale, under false pretences, and he has no right to you. I am your husband."

"That I cannot deny," she said, her hands twitching nervously. "But I read of your death in the papers, and believed it to be true," she added in despair.

"Well, you seem to have done extremely well for yourself. And you have been living in London all the time?"

"Mostly."

"I was in London very often. I have seen your name in the papers dozens of times as giving great official receptions and entertainments, yet I confess I never, for a moment, dreamed that the great Countess Bracondale and my wife, Jean, were one and the same person."

She shrank at the word "wife." That surely was the most evil day in all her life. She was wondering how best to end that painful interview--how to solve the tragic difficulty which had now arisen--how best to hide her dread secret from Bracondale.

"Well," she said at last, "though you married me, Ralph, you never had a spark of affection for me. Do you recollect the last night that I was beneath your roof--your confession that you were a thief, and how you raised your hand against me because I begged you not to run into danger.

How----?"

"Enough!" he interrupted roughly. "The past is dead and gone. I was a fool then."

"But I remember it all too well, alas!" she said. "I remember how I loved you, and how full and bitter was my disillusionment."

"And what do you intend doing now?" he asked defiantly.

"Nothing," was her reply. Truth to tell, she was nonplussed. She saw no solution of the ghastly problem.

"But I want money," he declared, fiercely.

"I have none--only what my husband gives me."

"Husband! I'm your husband, remember. I tell you, Jean, I don't intend to starve. I may be well dressed, but that's only bluff. I've got only a few pounds in the world."

"I see," she said. "You intend to blackmail me. But I warn you that if those are your tactics, I shall simply tell Bracondale what I know concerning Richard Harborne."

"You will--will you!" he cried, fiercely, advancing towards her threateningly. "By Heaven, if you breathe a word about that, I--_I'll kill you_!"

And in his eyes shone a bright, murderous light--a light that she had seen there once before--on the night of her departure.

She recognised how determined he was, and drew back in fear.

Then, placing his hand in his jacket pocket, he drew forth a small leather wallet, much worn, and from it took a soiled, crumpled but carefully-preserved letter, which he opened and presented for her inspection.

"Do you recognise this?" he asked, with a sinister grin.

She drew back and held her breath.

"I'll read it," he said with a triumphant laugh. "I kept it as a souvenir. The man you call husband will no doubt be very pleased to see it." Then he read the words:

"_In spite of my love for you, Ralph, I cannot suffer longer. Certain hidden things in your life frighten me.

Farewell. Forget me._--JEAN."

For a few seconds she was silent. Her face was white as paper.