There was a sensation in the drawing-room over which Mrs. Chalmers presided.

They were not looking at that lady, or they might have seen her pallor under all the artificial color of her complexion, and would certainly have noticed the nervous interlacing of her long fingers as they twined themselves about each other, and the little gasping breath that came through her parted lips.

Carlita alone seemed to retain her absolute composure.

Not a detail of the situation had escaped her, not even the angry compression of Leith Pierrepont's lips as Senor Meriaz turned his back and calmly sauntered to the other side of the room.

Young Beresford laughed constrainedly, feeling that something must be done to lighten the situation.

"'Pon my soul, Pierrepont," he said, in a stage whisper, "if looks were poniards, you wouldn't be alive at this moment. Evidently you didn't hit it off with your friend from Mexico. What was it? One of your usual escapades with a beautiful senorita? His daughter, perhaps?"

Leith had never come so near having a downright affection for the light-headed individual in his life.

"I never had the pleasure of an acquaintance with Senorita Meriaz, though I have met her," he said, nonchalantly; "but I am not fond of her father."

"It seemed almost as if your dislike extended to all things Mexican," said Carlita, lightly, marveling at her own coolness.

"Not to all things," he exclaimed, gallantly. "I believe you are partly Mexican."

"We must all adore angels," said Redfield Ash, with a bow to Carlita, "whether they be Mexican, Hindoo or heathen Chinee, and such you have proven yourself tonight by the beauty of your exquisite voice, Miss de Barryos. Won't you sing for us again? or are you weary?"

Carlita could never tell what impulse moved her, nor how she happened to yield to it, but she looked up into Pierrepont's face wistfully, and said, slowly:

"Will you accompany me? Your playing would convert a linnet to a nightingale."

He smiled the pleasure he felt, and seated himself at once; but his mind seemed preoccupied, for while he played the notes of the selection she placed before him, there was not the spirit—the exquisite coloring that usually characterized his playing, Carlita observed, watching with ceaseless intent.

Suddenly she seemed to have forgotten to hate herself for the despicable part she was playing—to have forgotten everything in the interest that surrounded the central figures in her little drama. She was like the detective who forgets he is a spy, under the excitement of a human chase.

After the song was finished, there was another call to the tables for the poker to begin again, but neither Pierrepont nor Meriaz joined them. Leith retained his seat at the piano for a time, then suddenly rose.

The game was progressing hilariously. No one seemed to observe the fact that he had left the piano. Meriaz was seated a trifle back of Carlita, watching her hand, and as she glanced up she saw Pierrepont look at him. There was a slight uplifting of the eyebrows and the faintest movement of the head toward the door, and then he turned and went out.

Five minutes afterward, Meriaz arose leisurely, and after walking about the room quietly, looking at statuary and dainty objects of virtu, he followed in the direction Leith had indicated.

Apparently Jessica had been oblivious of the by-play, but Carlita looked toward her imploringly.

"I wonder if you could excuse me for a very few minutes?" she questioned, her excitement making her voice low and strained.

"Why, certainly," answered Jessica, sweetly. "Is the heat of the room too much for you?"

"I—I don't know; but I will not be long absent. You can play without me?"

"Oh, yes!" answered Jessica, laughing. "Perhaps some of your luck will flow over to my side. My chips are getting pitifully low."

She did not even glance up as Carlita left the room; but there was a curious twitching at the corners of her mouth when she saw Carlita leave by the same door by which Leith and Meriaz had made their exit.

Carlita did not pause to think. She was keeping her oath to the dead. She did not remember that what she was about to do was dishonorable, unwomanly. She had sworn that she would put all consideration of self behind in this search for the murderer of her lover, and she was doing it.

She was in time to see Meriaz walk calmly into the library, through the open door of which she had seen Leith, and then the door was closed upon them.

She hurried swiftly through the hall and lifted a portiÈre at the back end, through which she passed into the adjoining room, separated from the library only by a Japanese portiÈre. The light was out in the room that screened her, and was burning brilliantly in the room that contained them, so that she could see and hear everything without fear of being seen.

"What has brought you here?" she heard Leith demand, indignantly, of the repulsive-looking Mexican who stood before him.

It was rather a change from his shrinking and the bold manner of the Mexican when they had been presented in the drawing-room, and she listened breathlessly for the answer.

"To see you!" returned Meriaz, his black, cunning eyes fixed greedily upon Leith's face.

"What for?" demanded Leith, towering over the short, bulky Mexican in his majestic rage.

"You know perfectly well," answered Meriaz, with a hateful grin. "I've come to find out the whole of the situation that made you so anxious that none of the story of young Winthrop's death should ever get to this section of the country."

"And you have found out?" questioned Leith, proudly.

"Oh, yes! You know me well enough to know that it doesn't take long to do that. You are in love with Miss de Barryos, the fiancÉ of the murdered man."

"May I ask who gave you this information?"

"It was not necessary that any one should. I'm not blind. But, anyway, you know how perfectly you are in my power."

"In what?" cried Leith, forgetting himself for a moment, and thundering the word out so that Meriaz lifted his hand warningly.

"There is no use in your giving the snap away until that becomes necessary," he said, with despicable cunning. "I am not going to peach, provided you make it to my interest to keep quiet."

"What the devil do you want?"

"Money."

Leith hesitated. Even under his mustache both Carlita and Meriaz saw how his lips were twitching, how white they had grown.

"Pouf!" exclaimed the Mexican. "Why do you hesitate? You got all of his money, and you can surely give up that for protection."

Carlita half expected to see Pierrepont throttle the wretch before him, but instead he turned away and sat down before the writing-desk, leaning his elbow upon it and shading his eyes with a hand which trembled.

"I suppose you are right," he said, dully, after a long pause. "How much do you want?"

"Five thousand—now."

"And when you have got it, do you promise to take yourself back to Mexico or any place out of my sight? Do you promise that this cursed business shall be buried between us?"

"Yes, I promise; but you will leave me your address so that I can write to you occasionally."

"You know the address well enough without my giving it to you. There is one thing more. Will you answer a question?"

"If I can."

"How did you happen to know Miss Chalmers?"

A curious expression crossed the face of the wily Mexican.

"I knew her when she was a child," he answered, evasively. "I knew her father. It was quite natural that I should come to call when I came to America."

"But not natural that she should bring you into her drawing-room to introduce you to her friends," returned Leith, forgetting that he was not very complimentary. "Have you told her anything of this story?"

"Not a thing."

"You swear it?"

"I swear it!"

There was another short pause, then Leith threw out his hand deprecatingly.

"All right," he exclaimed. "There is my card with my address. Come there tomorrow at twelve and I will give you the five thousand. And now, go back to the drawing-room and I will follow you as quickly as possible so as not to attract attention."

The Mexican left the room without another word, and feeling old and stiff, Carlita crept away from her position beside the door.

She had seen Leith's head bowed upon his arms which rested upon the desk, and somehow there was a great lump in her throat which she felt would burst into hysterical sobbing if she stood there watching him.

The last doubt was gone now, but there was no triumph in the convincing proof of his guilt.

She went out upon a little side balcony and stood there with the cold night air blowing upon her heated face. She never knew how long she stayed there, but she was aroused at last by a mild flood of tears that came pouring uncontrollably from her eyes and hearing her own voice in her ears sounding strange and eerie to her strained senses:

"My God—my God! if it were only I who had died—if it were only I!"