Though Ralph Ansell’s clean-shaven face was strong, and his eyes keen and searching, in the dress he wore he presented anything but the appearance of the gentleman he did when, twelve months before, he had lived in the cosy little bachelor flat in Shaftesbury Avenue.

His clothes were black, striped with grey, the coat edged with braid in the foreign manner, his neck was encircled by a soft collar tied with a loose, black cravat. His waistcoat was open, displaying his soft, white shirt and the leather belt around his waist, while on his head was a cloth cap with an unusually large peak.

He looked the true Parisian loafer, as indeed he was. Yet love is blind, and as yet Jean would believe nothing to his discredit, crushing out any suspicion that had arisen within her.

Having discarded his cap and tossed it across upon a chair, revealing his high, square forehead, he threw off his coat, and in his shirt-sleeves sat down at the table, exclaiming:

“Now, then, girl, I hope you’ve got something eatable to-night. I shall want something to keep me going before to-morrow morning.”

“Why?” asked the girl, putting down the tureen of pot-au-feu and seating herself.

“I’ve got a little business on, that’s all,” he snapped, taking his soup, commencing it, and grumbling that it was badly made.

“I do my best, Ralph,” she protested. “You know I’ve had no money for three days now.”

“And if you had, the soup would be just the same,” he declared. “You may be all very well to make hats, but you’re no good as a man’s wife. I’ve discovered that long ago. I—”

His words were interrupted by a loud rap at the door.

He started in alarm, but the next second sprang up and welcomed his visitor warmly.

“You, Adolphe, old fellow!” he cried. “Why, you gave me quite a start. Come in and have a bit of dinner. I want to talk to you. I was coming to find you as soon as I’d finished. Jean, another plate for Adolphe.”

So the man who had entered laid his hard-felt hat on the sideboard, as was his habit, and sat down at the table in the chair that his friend had placed for him.

Then Ansell, having carefully closed the window, went back to the table and, bending towards his friend, said:

“Listen. I’m going to tell you something important. I’ve got a good thing on for us both to-night. You know the Baron’s out at Neuilly? Well, to-night, it quite——”

“Hush, Ralph! Madame——” his companion cried, glancing at Jean, apprehensively.

“Oh, she may just as well know the truth at first as at last,” laughed Ansell roughly. Then, turning to his wife, he exclaimed, with a sinister grin: “Perhaps, Jean, you may wonder how we live—how I have got my money in the past. Well, I may as well tell you, for one day you will surely discover our secret. We are burglars.”

The girl started, staring blankly at her husband, and uttered a low scream.

“Burglars!” she gasped, astounded.

“Yes. And now you know the truth, take care that you never blab out a word to anyone, or, by Heaven, it will be the worse for you! If you say a word,” he added, fiercely, with knit brows and glaring eyes, “if you let drop a hint to anybody, I’ll break every bone in your body.”

“Ralph!” she cried, starting up in horror. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“Enough!” protested Adolphe, angrily. “I won’t stand by and hear such threats, Ralph.”

“What, pray, is it to do with you?” asked Ansell, fiercely. “She’s my wife, and I can speak to her. I can tell her what home-truths I like without your interference.”

“I should have deemed it more prudent to have said nothing, Ralph,” answered the other quietly.

Though Carlier was dressed also in a striped jacket and waistcoat and black trousers, he wore no collar, and looked even a greater blackguard than his friend.

His eyes met Jean’s, and in them he saw an expression of silent thanks for taking her part.

Then she turned and, covering her face with her hands, burst into bitter, blinding tears, and disappeared into the little kitchen.

“Sit down,” Ansell urged. “Now that little fool has gone, we can talk.”

“You are a perfect idiot,” declared the other, in disgust.

“That’s my affair. She’ll have to be brought to her senses and know the truth.”

“It has upset her.”

“I can’t help that,” he laughed. “She must get over it. If she wants fine dresses and a good time she must help us. And I mean that she shall before long. Look at Tavernier’s wife.”

“She is of a different type to madame.”

“Rubbish!” he laughed. “Wait and see what I’ll do. She’ll be a valuable asset to us before long.”

Adolphe leaned his elbows upon the table and shrugged his shoulders.

“Bien!” he said. “Let me hear the proposition.”

“It is quite simple,” the young adventurer said. “I know the interior of the Baron’s house. There is a lot of good stuff there—some jewellery, too, and even enough table silver to make the job worth while. In his safe he keeps a lot of papers. If we could only get them they would fetch something in certain quarters—enough to make us both rich; but the worst of it is that we left our jet in London, and we cannot get it without.” And he took a caporal from the packet before him and slowly lit it. Then he resumed, saying: “Now, I propose that we leave the safe out of the question, and go for the plate in the salle-À-manger. We have no tools for a really artistic job, so we must be content this time with the Baron’s embroideries. His papers may come later—at least, that’s my project. I’ve been out at Neuilly all day, and have had a good look around, and decided on the way we shall get in. It is perfectly easy—all save the watchdog. But a bit of doctored meat will do the trick. I got a little dose for him from old PÈre Lebrun on my way home,” and from his pocket he produced a small bottle.

“Is the Baron at home?” asked his accomplice, to whom, of course, Ansell had never spoken about the failure of his plot for blackmail.

“Of course,” was the reply. “But what does that matter? He’ll be sound asleep, and to-morrow we shall be a couple of thousand francs the richer. It is childishly easy, my dear friend, I assure you.”

“And if we meet the Baron, who, if all I hear be true, is an extremely shrewd person, what shall we do?”

“Well, if we meet anybody, we must act as we have always acted.”

“Shoot, eh?”

Ansell nodded and grinned.

“We had bad luck in London, remember,” said “The Eel.”

“Yes; but it is easy out at Neuilly,” the other declared. “I’ve been in the salle-À-manger, remember. Every bit of plate in use is solid silver. Much of it is kept in drawers in the room. Besides, there were a lot of knick-knacks about in the large salon. Levy will buy them in a moment. We are on a soft thing, I can assure you. I was an ass not to have thought of it long ago. Once the dog is silenced the rest is quite easy.”

Carlier, who had only two francs in his pocket, reflected deeply. He was silent for fully three minutes, while his companion watched his face narrowly.

“When do you propose starting?”

“Say at eleven. We’ll get your things from your place, and I’ll take my flash-lamp, keys, and a few other necessaries.”

“No, you’ll not, Ralph!” cried Jean, as she rushed out from the kitchen, where behind the half-closed door she had been listening to the plot.

“Shut up, girl, will you?” her husband commanded roughly. “We want no woman’s advice in our business.”

And rising from his chair, he unlocked the drawer in the movable cupboard wherein he kept certain of his private belongings, and took therefrom a serviceable-looking revolver, which he examined and saw was fully loaded.

He also drew forth some skeleton keys, a burglar’s jemmy in two sections, a pair of india-rubber gloves, a small, thin saw, and an electric pocket-lamp, all of which he carefully stowed away in his pockets.

The contents of that drawer were a startling revelation to Jean. He had always kept it locked, and she had often wondered what it contained.

Now that she knew she stood staggered.

She looked in horror at the revolver he held in his hand, and then with a sudden movement she flung herself upon him and grasped his arms, appealing to him for the sake of her love to desist from such an adventure.

Quick and passionate came the words, the full, fervent appeal of a woman deeply and honestly in love. But he heeded not either her tears or her words, and only cast her from him with a rough malediction, declaring her to be an encumbrance.

“But think!” she cried. “Now that I know what you are I am in deadly fear that—that one day they may come, Ralph, and take you away from me.”

And she stood pale-faced and trembling before him.

“Ah, never fear, my girl,” replied her husband. “They’ll never have me. They’ve tried a good many times, haven’t they Adolphe?” and he laughed defiantly. “The police! Zut! I do not fear them!” and he snapped his thin, long fingers in contempt.

“But one day, dear—one day they may be successful. And—and what should I do?”

“Do?” he asked. “Well, if I were put away I suppose you’d have to do as a good many other women have done.”

She looked at him very straight in deep reproach, but uttered no word.

Disillusionment had fallen upon her, and utterly crushed her. Ralph—her Ralph—the man in whom all her love, all her thoughts, all her sympathies were centred, was a thief, and, further, he had cursed her as an encumbrance.

The poor girl drew her hand across her brow as though unable to actually realise the astounding facts. She was stunned by the hideous truth which had that evening been revealed. The blow had in an instant crushed all the light out of her life.

She now realised the reason of those many secret conferences with Carlier, and certain other rather disreputable-looking companions, jail-birds, without a doubt. She knew why he was sometimes absent all night, why he had stolen in, weary and worn, in the early hours of the morning, and why, on one occasion, he had remained in the house for two whole weeks and had never once gone out.

“Well, now you know the truth, girl, I hope you won’t ask any more inquisitive questions,” Ralph said, noticing how strangely she had stared at him. “Our business concerns nobody but ourselves—you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” she replied, slowly, in a strange, hard voice. “I understand, too, Ralph, that you no longer love me, or you would never have spoken to me as you have to-night.”

And she burst into tears.

“Ralph, Ralph, this is too bad!” protested his friend. “You ought to have a little pity for poor madame—you really ought.”

“I tell you I don’t want any interference in my domestic affairs, so shut up, or you and I won’t agree. Do you hear that—once and for all?” replied Ansell determinedly, thrusting his bony face into that of this companion.

The latter shrugged his shoulders, and merely remarked:

“Well, you surprise me greatly.”

Of a sudden, however, Jean, with a quick movement, sprang towards her husband, who had already put on his coat and cap, and placed the revolver in his pocket preparatory to departing upon his midnight adventure. She seized him by both wrists and, throwing herself wildly upon her knees, begged and implored him not to go.

“For my sake, Ralph, don’t go!” she urged. “Don’t go! Give up the project! Work and lead an honest life, I beg of you.”

“Honest life!” he laughed with a sneer. “Can you imagine me sitting in an office all day, adding up figures, or writing letters for some other thief with a brass plate on his office door? No, I’m not cut out for that, I assure you,” he added.

“But for my sake, don’t go,” she urged again, his hands still in hers, for she held them firmly, and placed them to her lips.

His confession that he was a thief had fallen upon her, and for the first few moments had held her speechless, but now she had found tongue, and even though the disgraceful truth was out, her first thought was for his safety.

“You’re a confounded little fool!” he declared, roughly. “Let me go. Come on, Adolphe! We haven’t any use for women’s tears.”

And he twisted her hands roughly so that she was compelled to relinquish her hold.

He was leaving the room, but again she caught him, clinging to him resolutely, and beseeching him to heed her word.

This angered him. His face was pale, his eyes flashed quickly and, gripping her by the right hand, he raised his fist to strike her.

In a flash, however, Carlier, who stood with his hat on ready to depart, sprang in from behind, and gripped the brute’s arm, shouting:

“No, you shall not strike her—not while I am present! Come away, you infernal coward!”

Jean gave vent to a hysterical shriek, and shook herself free, but ere she could realise what had actually happened, the two men, without further word, had left the room, her husband slamming the door after him with a fierce imprecation.

Then she stood alone, white-faced, terrified, heart-broken.

Ralph Ansell had at last shown himself in his true colours—a thief, a bully, a coward, and a blackguard.

And yet she had loved him until that hour—loved him with all the strength of her being—loved him as she had loved no other man in her whole life.

She had lived only for him, and she would have willingly died for him had he not raised his hand against her.

But she stood in the centre of that meagre little room, staring straight before her, her countenance white to the lips, her big, dark eyes fixed like one in a dream.

Poor Jean! Even then her brain was awhirl. She could scarcely realise the grim, terrible truth.

For a few moments she stood there motionless as a statue, then suddenly she staggered, reeled, and collapsed, inert and senseless, upon the floor.