Ralph Ansell made a sudden dash at his wife, gripping her by the throat with his gloved hands.

She staggered to the table, and he bent her backwards across it. His evil face was distorted by a look of murderous hatred, his big eyes started from their sockets in his wild frenzy of anger.

“Where are those pearls?” he demanded. “Speak! Give them to me at once, or, by Heaven, I’ll strangle you!”

“I—I don’t know,” she managed to gasp. “They were in there. I—I—I thought they were there.”

“You liar! You got the letter and burned it, well knowing that the jewels were not in the box! Where are they?” he demanded, tightening his grip upon her throat and shaking her roughly. “Speak, woman—speak! Tell me where they are!”

Jean struggled frantically to free herself from his murderous grip. He was throttling her.

“I—I don’t know—where—they are!” she protested, with great difficulty.

“You do! You’ve kept them!” he hissed between his teeth, for he was in a fury of fierce anger at having been so deceived. “It’s no use lying. I mean to have them, or go straight to this man Bracondale.”

“I’m telling the truth!” protested the unhappy woman. “They were there half an hour ago. I put them there.”

“Bah! Don’t tell me that! They could not have gone without hands. No, you’ve worked a real slick trick! And I was fool enough to trust you! Come, hand them over at once—if you don’t want Bracondale to know,” and he again forced her farther back over the table. “He’ll be here in a minute. What a nice scene for him—eh? Come, where are those pearls?”

“I’ve told you I don’t know. It’s the truth, Ralph, I swear it!” she cried, in wild despair. “Somebody must have stolen them!”

“You liar!” he cried, his face white with evil passion. “Do you dare to tell me that? Do you think I’m a fool to believe such a story? Stolen! Of course they’re not stolen. You’ve hidden them. Yes,” he added, “you’ve been devilish clever to get that letter out of me, and burn it before my eyes—haven’t you—eh? But you shall pay for it!” he cried, between his teeth, as his strong hands compressed her throat until she went scarlet and her wild, glaring eyes started from her head.

She tried to cry out—tried to shriek and raise an alarm, for she knew her life was in danger. But she could utter no sound beyond a low gurgle.

“You refuse to give me the pearls—eh?” he said, his dark brows knit, and murder in his piercing eyes. “You think to trick me—your husband! By gad! You shall pay for this! Tell me where they are. This is your last moment. You shall die—die—curse you!” And his grip tightened upon her thin, white throat—the grip of a murderer.

Jean, unable to move, unable to cry out, felt herself fainting, when next second she was startled by a sharp pistol shot.

“Ah!” gasped her assailant, releasing his hold instantly and clapping his right hand to his back.

The shot had been fired from behind.

“Ah!” cried the wounded man in wild despair. “I—why, I——”

Then he reeled completely round and fell backward upon the carpet—inert—dead!

At the same instant Jean, staggered by the suddenness of it all, was confronted by a ragged, unkempt, hatless man in a striped jacket some sizes too big for him. Around his neck was a dirty scarf in lieu of a collar, and his dark hair was curly and ruffled.

She saw the man emerge from the curtain, and started back in increased alarm.

“Madame!” cried the newcomer, “it is me! Don’t you know me?”

She stood rooted to the spot.

“Adolphe!” she gasped, staring at him.

“Yes, madame. I came here, not knowing that this was your chÂteau,” he explained, in a low whisper. “I found the window open just before that man arrived. I came in and took your pearls. Here they are!”

And he drew them from the pocket of his shabby jacket and handed them back to her.

“Where—where did you come from? You have saved my life,” she faltered in blank amazement.

“I came out of prison nine months ago,” was his reply. “They brought me to Paris, but I could find no work, so I tramped to Havre, hoping to get a job at the docks, or to work my passage to New York. But all to no avail, so I—I had, alas! to return to my old profession. And the first house I enter I find, to my dismay, is yours!”

“You heard us talking?” she asked quickly.

“I heard everything—and I understood everything,” was the quick reply. “That man,” he went on, “robbed me and gave me deliberately into the hands of the police. I swore to be avenged, and I have killed him—as he deserves. He was an assassin, and I am his executioner!”

“But the servants will be alarmed by the shot!” she gasped suddenly. “There is no time to lose. You must want money. I shall send you some to the Poste Restante in Havre—to-morrow. Now go—or you may be discovered.”

“But how will you explain?” he asked hurriedly. “Ah, madame, through those long, dreary years at Devil’s Island I have thought of you, and wondered—and wondered what had become of you. I am so glad to know that you are rich and happy, as you assuredly deserve.”

She sighed, for a flood of memories came over her.

“Yes, Adolphe, I am greatly indebted to you. Twice you have saved me from that man’s violence. Ah, I shall not forget.”

“But, madame, think of yourself! If he comes—if the servants come—how can you explain his body in your room? Let me think!”

Already Jean fancied she heard sounds of someone moving in the house, and of subdued and frightened voices.

Yes, the servants had been alarmed, and were searching from room to room! Not an instant was to be lost.

“I have an idea!” exclaimed “The Eel.” “Here, take this, madame,” and he held out his revolver to her with both hands.

But she shrank back.

“Take it—take it, I beg of you,” he implored.

She obeyed, moving like one in a dream.

Swiftly he took up the pearls and, bending, placed them in the dead man’s pocket. Then, having done this, he said:

“Your explanation is quite a simple one. You came in here unexpectedly, and found the man—a perfect stranger to you, and a burglar, evidently, from the fact that he wore gloves—taking your pearls from their case. You demanded them back, but he turned upon you with a revolver. There was a struggle for the weapon. You twisted his hand back, and in the fight it went off. And he fell dead. Keep cool. That is your story.”

“But I——”

“That is the only story, madame,” he said firmly. “It is a lie, I admit—but a white lie—the only explanation you can give, if you would still preserve your secret.”

Footsteps sounded out in the hall, and therefore there was not a second to waste.

The thief grasped her thin, white hand and, bending devotedly, kissed it.

“Adieu, madame. May Heaven assist and preserve you in future!” he whispered, and next moment he had disappeared behind the curtain and dropped over the verandah.