Breathless, with alternate flashes of heat and cold traveling over her with such rapidity that unconsciousness was threatened, Carlita sat there staring at the words represented by the numbers in that telegram, understanding all the horrible import of it, yet unable to think connectedly after the first shock, until finally she flung up her hands and covered her wretched face passionately.

"Why should it affect me like this?" she cried, as if some awful hatred of herself were at work in her heart. "Why should it affect me like this? I knew that Leith Pierrepont was guilty of murder—knew it as well before as I know it now—and yet—and yet hope must have been at work within me, for this additional proof of his guilt is maddening. Why should he lie, if it were not he that committed the crime? Why should he wish to deceive me as to the manner of Olney's death? Good God! it seems impossible that a human creature, one of Thine own creation, could be so base; and yet it must be so—it must be so!"

And yet, for all her self-assurance, she snatched up the book again and once more toiled through the numbers, counting them out more slowly, more carefully, than she had done before, and feeling the hideous depression creeping over her with renewed horror as she realized that she had made no mistake.

And then, trembling so that she could scarcely hold the volume, she compiled a telegram to Edmond Stolliker in reply:

"I don't understand your message. Have you had body disinterred, and what does the knowledge imply? Answer at once if you have reason still to believe the man whom we suspect to be guilty."

She felt better when it had been dispatched by Ahbel, with the injunction to the telegraph operator to be sure there should be no mistake made in the numbers; still she could not rest, but walked up and down the room, up and down, like the tigress that chafes against confining bars.

Half an hour afterward Jessica entered, her smile more fascinating than ever.

"Not lying down, as I commanded, you naughty girl!" exclaimed the female Judas, playfully taking Carlita by the shoulders and forcing her into a chair. "I actually feel inclined to dismiss your careless maid. What's the matter? You look in a fever of excitement."

"I'm afraid I am," admitted Carlita, with a wan smile. "I wish you'd let me go out for a little drive or—or—something. I feel as if the house were suffocating me!"

"A drive? Why, certainly; and I'll go with you, if you'll have me. I'll order the carriage at once," suiting the action to the word and ringing the bell. "What has upset you like this? Some news since you left the drawing-room? Ah, I see! a telegram. May I read it?"

She lifted the paper without waiting for permission, and made a little wry face.

"Great Scott!" she exclaimed, laughing. "What's all this algebra about? No, that's wrong; for, in algebra, letters stands for figures, and here figures must stand for letters. What does it mean, dearie?"

Carlita had arisen and stood facing her, her great burning eyes fixed upon the calm ones before her. Her cheeks were crimson with the excitement that seemed consuming her, and, leaning forward, she placed her hot fingers upon Jessica's cool wrist.

"I wonder if I dare trust you?" she whispered, feverishly. "I wonder if I dare tell you what that telegram contains?"

Jessica smiled again. It was such a curious smile. It might have startled, and would have certainly puzzled, Carlita had she been in an analytical frame of mind; but she was too much upset mentally to think of that.

"Trust me!" exclaimed Jessica in a tone that simulated offense admirably. "If you have any doubts upon the subject, perhaps you had better not."

"Oh, forgive me!" cried Carlita, regretfully. "I am in too great distress to consider my words carefully, and I thought you would understand. We have grown to be so much to each other in these last few days—or weeks, is it? Let me tell you, will you not, dear Jessica? You know the solemn oath that I have sworn, and you will help me?"

"You mean about Olney?"

"Yes."

Jessica did not reply. A knock came in answer to her ring just then, and pushing Carlita back into her chair again, she answered the summons, then drew another chair up in front of her mother's ward.

"You startle me," she said, gently.

"I, too, am startled—frightened," answered Carlita, shivering. "Here is the translation of those figures—read it."

Jessica took the paper into her hand, and read aloud:

"The gentleman to whom you were engaged was not shot as you were told."

The paper fluttered from her hand. She lifted her eyes and allowed them to rest upon Carlita's, heavy, dull with apprehension. She was a magnificent actress.

There was a long, dense silence between them, then Jessica's lips moved slowly.

"What does it mean?" she gasped, hoarsely. "What under heaven could have induced him to lie?"

Once again Carlita leaned forward, her scorching fingers touching Jessica's wrist in an uncanny sort of way that made the latter shiver.

"The truth is not upon the lips of—a guilty man," she answered, in a hollow, unnatural tone. "Forgive me, Jessica, but I heard your words the night he came with his awful story of Olney's—death. I heard you accuse—him to your mother. I know that you, too, believe him guilty."

She paused, but Jessica did not speak. She waited for her to continue, and after a moment the hollow voice went on:

"I went down to see him, hoping to hear more, and I heard you instead, accusing him to your mother. It has been a bond of sympathy between us. I have loved you because I knew you must hate him as I do."

"And yet you continue to receive him!" exclaimed the arch-hypocrite, half reproachfully.

She was scarcely prepared for the excitement her words provoked. Carlita sprang to her feet and walked hastily up and down the room, her hands clasping and unclasping, her cheeks crimson, her breath coming in little gasps.

"I know that you will hate me even as I hate myself for the despicable part that is forced upon me, but it is only to prove his guilt that I have undertaken it. It is only to bring him to a punishment of his dastardly crime; and, despise myself as I will—let the whole world despise me if it must—I shall play the part to the bitter end!"

She was at the other end of the room and could not see the hateful, cunning smile that lurked about the corners of Jessica's mouth as she said, quietly:

"Then you know that he loves you?"

The beautiful, majestic head was bowed for a moment in shame, as the quivering voice replied:

"Yes, I know it."

"He told you—"

"Before Olney left for Mexico."

"He asked you to—be his wife?"

"Yes."

There was the old gleam of the serpent in the brown eyes, the greenish glare that Carlita must have understood had she been looking; but she was not.

Neither of them spoke for some moments. Carlita had paused, and was looking, in a distracted way, through the window, seeing nothing of the world that was stretched out before her.

Jessica arose and stood beside her before she was conscious of her approach. The curious tone of the hissing voice caused her to shrink away in a sort of nameless terror as the words reached her:

"And you want to prove his guilt; is that it?"

She hesitated for a moment—it seemed so ghastly, so unreal, so impossible—and then her voice came in a hoarse whisper:

"Yes, that is it."

"I will help you!" cried Jessica, in a voice filled with a desire for revenge so strong that it could not be subdued. "I will help you! I know a man down there, an old friend of the family. He will assist us. You think you have not a friend. I can see more clearly than you, because I—do not—suffer. You were right when you said that I believed in his guilt, and we will punish him—you and I—as man was never punished before. Meriaz will help us."

"How can I ever thank you!" cried Carlita, grasping the hand that was not withdrawn from her.

Jessica smiled enigmatically.

"I do not care for thanks. Only let me help you," she answered in the same tone, that somehow sent a chill to Carlita's heart.

Then she turned away to answer a knock at the door.

"The carriage is ready, Miss Chalmers," the servant announced, "and a telegram for Miss de Barryos."

She had the telegram in her hand and the door closed almost before the sentence had been completed.

Carlita flew across the room and seized it, her cheeks glowing more crimson than ever, then fading to ashen white.

"Help me!" she gasped. "There is the book. Count the words from the bottom of the page while I read the numbers aloud to you."

And placing both her weapons and ammunition in the hands of her deadliest enemy, they translated together the words:

"Body disinterred. Murder committed by suffocation. Everything points to person suspected. The necessity to play your part with consummate skill is greater than ever. Take care, and trust no one.

E. S."

But the warning had come too late.