"I--I have no idea."

"The police will establish his ident.i.ty, no doubt. I will telephone for them," he said. "But where are the pearls now?"

"In his pocket, I expect," she said.

Bracondale bent and hastily felt the outside of one of the dead man's pockets. But they were not there.

He felt the other, and, discovering them, drew out the beautiful string, and replaced it in its box.

"An expert thief, I should say, from his dress," remarked Bracondale.

"He wears gloves, too--just as all modern burglars do."

"He nearly strangled me," Jean declared weakly.

"It was fortunate that the revolver went off during the struggle, or he might have killed you, dearest. Ah! you are a brave girl. The papers will, no doubt, be full of this!"

"Ah! no!" she implored. "Do not let us have any publicity. I--I hate to think that I have killed a man--even though he be an armed burglar."

"But the law permits you to take life in self-defence, therefore do not trouble yourself over it. He would, no doubt, have killed you with little compunction, rather than forego carrying away his prize."

"Yes--but----"

"No," urged her husband kindly. "Do not let us discuss it further. Come with me to your room. I will telephone to the police in Havre, and leave the rest to them. Come, dearest, you have had a terrible experience, and you must rest quietly now--and recover."

He linked his arms in hers tenderly, and conducted her slowly from the presence of that white, dead countenance she knew, alas! too well.

After taking her to her room and leaving her in the hands of Bates, her maid, he descended, and from the study telephoned to the Chef de la Surete at Havre.

Then, receiving a reply that three agents of police would at once be dispatched on cycles, he went upstairs to where she was seated in a big arm-chair, pale and trembling, still suffering from the shock.

It was only when they were again alone, and he took her in his strong arms, kissed her fondly upon the lips, and softly rea.s.sured her, that she could summon courage to speak.

"You do love me, Jack?" she asked with intense, eager eyes. "You do really love me? Tell me."

"Why, of course I do, dearest," he declared. "Why do you ask? Have you not seen that I love you?"

"I--I--yes, I know. But I thought perhaps you----"

She hesitated. She was wondering if he suspected anything. But no. She was free! Adolphe, ever sympathetic and ever faithful to her interests, had saved her. Yet, poor fellow, he was only a thief!

She swallowed the big lump that arose in her throat, and then, throwing her long, white arms wildly about her husband's neck, she kissed him with a fierce, intense pa.s.sion, bursting into tears--tears of joy.

True, she had told a white lie, but in the circ.u.mstances, could you, my reader, blame her?

THE END.

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