The Marchese Loria had always been lucky in games of chance. In this biggest game of all Fortune still stood behind him and, with a guiding finger, pointed out the cards to play.

There were no delays in his programme. His ship arrived in port precisely at the appointed hour. He was able to go on immediately to San Francisco. There he was just in time to catch a boat for Samoa. He wired to his friend, Monsieur de Letz, the French Consul, that he was coming, and received an enthusiastic welcome. The Consul was a bachelor, approaching middle age, was intensely bored with the monotony of life on an island of the Pacific, and was ravished with the chance of entertaining a personage so brilliant in the great far-away world as the Marchese Loria. He had a charming house, and a good cook; some wine also, and cigars of the best. Loria arrived at dinner-time, and afterward, smoking and talking in the moonlight on a broad verandah, the guest led up to the question he was half dying to ask.

"Have you heard any exciting news lately?" he airily inquired, in a tone that hovered between pleasantry and mystery.

"Does one ever hear exciting news in this place?" groaned the French Consul. "Nothing has happened for years. Nothing is ever likely to happen again now that we have become so dull and peaceful here."

"No news of another visitor?"

"Another visitor?"

"A gentleman from New Caledonia."

"Mon Dieu! How did you know that?"

"Is it then so difficult to know, mon ami?"

"One hopes so. It is not good that these things should leak out and reach the public ear. The information is very private. The authorities at home and abroad do all they can to keep it dark, and yet it seems——"

"My ear isn't exactly the 'public ear,' as I'll presently explain. But it is a fact, then, that a convict has escaped from the Ile Nou, and you have got word that he is likely to turn up here on board a steam yacht?"

"It is a fact. I see you have the whole story. But how did you get it?"

"I'll tell you that later. First, just a question or two, if you don't mind, for I happen to be interested in the affair. How long ago did the fellow get away—or rather, when may the yacht, the Bella Cuba, be expected here, if at all?"

"She might come in to-morrow."

Loria gave a long sigh. He was lying back in a big easy-chair and sending out ring after ring of blue smoke, which he watched, as they disappeared, with half-shut eyes. One would have fancied him the embodiment of happy laziness, unless one had chanced to notice the tension of the fingers which grasped an arm of the chair.

"What will happen when she does come in?"

"Oh, trouble for me, and nothing to show for it."

"What do you mean?"—with a sudden change of tone.

"All I could do, I have done; which is to inform the Government authorities here that on board the expected yacht is a runaway forÇat belonging to France, and ask that he be arrested on the yacht's arrival."

"And then?"

"Then a boat will go out to meet this Bella Cuba as she comes into the harbour, and she will be requested to give up the man. Her people will say that there's no such person there, and refuse to let any one on board."

"But surely you could detain the yacht and search? The Bella Cuba comes from Sydney and New Caledonia. If you had reason to believe that there was a case of plague on board, for instance, the yacht would be quarantined."

"Yes; but if she were detained, and the convict found on board, he couldn't be identified by any one here. There has been no time for a photograph to arrive from New Caledonia. He won't be dressed like a convict; his hair will have grown. I have only the description telegraphed. His friends will take care he doesn't answer to that. Even if the Government fellows here had any pluck and wanted to attempt an arrest they wouldn't dare, with no one to identify the forÇat. You see, the yacht will be flying the English or American flag, and so——"

"I can identify him."

"You? There is a mystery then. I scented it at your first words."

"Scarcely a mystery. You have been very good to answer my questions. Answer one more now, and I'll explain everything. Suppose I can put you in the way of identifying this man, without chance of error; suppose I can put you up to a trick for detaining the yacht, is there any hope, if I proved to you it would be for your own advantage, as well as of everybody else concerned, that you could have the man arrested, and sent back where he deserves to be?"

The Frenchman hesitated. Then he said slowly, and more gravely than he had yet spoken: "Yes, I think I could."

"That is well, for he is a fiend in human shape, not fit to be at large. Worse than all, if he escapes, he is almost certain to ruin the life of the woman I love, and end my hopes of winning her."

"Mon Dieu! We must send him back to New Caledonia, to spend the rest of his life in the Black Cell!" enthusiastically exclaimed De Letz. "But my curiosity is on the stretch. A moment more unsatisfied, and it snaps."

"It shall be satisfied on the instant. I'll tell you the story in as few words as may be. You remember the crime committed by this fellow—for of course you know that, before he was Convict 1280, he was Maxime Dalahaide?"

"I know that. I know he is a murderer. But it is eight years, you must recollect, since I was in France, long before the thing happened. I took no particular interest in the crime, as I had never met the Dalahaides. He killed a woman: so much I recall. You were acquainted with him, I suppose?"

"To my sorrow. I thought he was my friend. He was a traitor. I cared for his sister. She loved and would have married me; but because I knew too much about him and his evil ways, he did not want me in the family. He told the girl and her parents lies. They believed them and sent me away. He borrowed huge sums of money of me, and never paid—never meant to pay. Always he was my secret enemy, yet when the world knew he was a murderer I strained every nerve to save his life, for his sister's sake. I did save it. But for every one concerned it was better that he should be removed where he could no longer strike at society, and I could scarcely regret his fate. Four years passed; I loved again, this time a beautiful American girl, the most perfect creature I have ever seen, and a great heiress. Madeleine Dalahaide had learned to detest me. She prejudiced this girl against me, and, not satisfied with that, excited her romantic nature to sympathy for the murderer, as a victim of injustice. The Bella Cuba is this girl's yacht—Miss Beverly's. She bought it in the hope of rescuing Maxime Dalahaide, and if he can escape, there is little doubt that she will put her hand in his, red though it is with a detestable crime. She must be saved from so ghastly a fate. But if she learns that she owes the failure of her plans to me, she will hate me to the death, and I shall lose all hope of her; whereas, if my agency in this affair could be hidden from her knowledge, the chances are that, if I could keep my head, I might win back her heart, after it is healed from its first disappointment. Help me to accomplish this, De Letz, for the sake of old times, and there's nothing you can ask of me that I will not do. Italian though I am, you know that my French cousins have powerful political influence. They shall use it to the utmost for you, and get you what post you please. I promise it—and I never break a promise to a friend."

"You fire me with your own enthusiasm!" cried De Letz. "We shall work the thing between us. But if you, and you alone, can identify this man, how will your part in the business be kept dark?"

"I will tell you how. I have brought several photographs of him, which I have always kept within reach. These I will give to you, and you can use them. If possible, I should, however, like to appear, not in the character of an enemy, but that of a friend. You may think this a low way of playing the game; but, you know, 'all is fair in love and war.' I want Miss Beverly to think I am here at this time by chance; that I have tried to soften your heart toward Dalahaide, and that I come with you, not as your ally against her, but to offer her and her cause what help I can. Of course, I shall fail in that effort, and you will win; but the little comedy will have brought me the girl's gratitude, which is worth all the world at this ticklish stage of the game. Will you aid me to play the part on these lines?"

De Letz laughed. "So, I am to be the villain of the piece? Well, I do not mind. We will stage the play realistically, and I——"

"And you will never regret your rÔle in it," returned Loria.

Before the Bella Cuba left Mentone all probable contingencies of the mission had been foreseen, and as far as possible provided for, by Roger Broom, George Trent, and Virginia Beverly, in council. They had talked over what must be done in case of failure or success, and the only event which Virginia had not felt able to discuss had been the death of one or more of the three men concerned in the rescue. They knew that, if the Bella Cuba should be lucky enough to get away from New Caledonia with Max Dalahaide on board, the news of the convict's escape would certainly reach the next port at which they must touch, before they could arrive there. Virginia's hope had been, after meeting the Countess de Mattos, that the woman's confession would exculpate Maxime, and that the peace of his future would be secured by the great coup of "kidnapping" her. But now this glimpse of brightness seemed likely to prove a mirage. Virginia was as sure as ever that Manuela de Mattos was Liane Devereux; even Roger Broom's contrary opinion had been somewhat shaken by the woman's horrified shriek at sight of Max Dalahaide's white face and tragic eyes in the moonlight. But the Countess had hardened once more into marble self-control, and Maxime, after an hour or two on board the yacht, had fallen into a state of fever and delirium. For the time being he could do nothing to assist in proving her identity; indeed, even if he had kept his senses, he might not have been able to swear that she was Liane Devereux, so many were the differences of personality. Months might have to pass before the truth of the strange conjecture could be proved—if it could ever be proved—while the Countess de Mattos remained entrenched in her strong position as a much injured and innocent lady.

They could not count upon her, and were forced to rely wholly upon the plan formed before the beautiful Manuela had entered into their calculations. On reaching Samoa it was to be, as George Trent expressed it, a "game of bluff." One hope of saving Max lay in the fact that no photograph of him could have arrived from New Caledonia; there were a hundred chances to one that there would be no one at Samoa who had ever seen him; he could not, therefore, be positively identified, and as the Bella Cuba, owned by an American girl, flew the stars and stripes, it was not likely that the authorities would care to invite trouble by attempting to detain a yacht sailing under American colours. It was well known to the initiated also, that successful "evasions" from the French penal settlements were hushed up with nervous caution whenever possible and that the news of even an attempted escape was seldom printed in French papers. This was another advantage for the guilty Bella Cuba. It might be considered better to let one convict go free, than precipitate an international complication, a world-wide sensation, especially as there was no one with a personal interest to serve in recovering this particular prisoner.

They steamed boldly on toward Samoa. The morning that the island was sighted, Dr. Grayle had pronounced Max Dalahaide better. The delirium had passed. He was quiet, though still very weak.

"I suppose he wouldn't be able to confront that wicked woman and accuse her to her face?" asked Virginia of the little brown man.

Dr. Grayle shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Our motto must be forward, but not too fast. He isn't fit yet for any strong excitement, since we don't want to risk a relapse now that he's getting on so well. I was rather afraid the sight of all those souvenirs of the past in his cabin would upset him when he should be in a state of mind to recognize them, but the effect has apparently been precisely opposite. At first, before he entirely realized things, and remembered where he was and how he had got there, he seemed to think that he was at home, and was continually talking to his mother or sister, or calling for his father, sometimes in English, sometimes in French. Now he knows all, and when he heard how it was your thought and his sister's to have so many familiar objects surrounding him, to give an atmosphere of home to the cabin prepared in case of a rescue, the tears came to his eyes, and he turned away his head on the pillow to hide them from me. He believes that, even in his unconsciousness, these things must have made an impression upon his mind, and by their soothing influence drawn his thought toward home, otherwise he must have raved about the prison in his delirium, instead of returning to old, happy days. So you see, Miss Beverly, he has one more reason to thank you, this poor fellow who has suffered so much, and kept so brave and strong through all."

Virginia had been pale of late, but she flushed at these words. "You believe him innocent, Dr. Grayle!" she exclaimed. "You wouldn't speak of him like that unless it were so."

"No one could have been with him as I have these past few days, and not believe him innocent," said the little doctor in his quiet voice. "Sir Roger thinks as I do, too, now. You will be glad to hear that."

"I am glad," Virginia answered. But Roger was not glad. Above all things he was just—sometimes in spite of himself. He had helped to nurse Max Dalahaide; he had changed his opinion of him, and felt bound to say so; yet he was not glad to change. He would have preferred to go on believing Dalahaide a guilty man.

Virginia had not the key to Roger's heart, however, and she did not know that he had the key to hers—to one hidden place there into which she had hardly dared to look. She would have kept it always locked, even from herself, if she could; but because she knew that there was something there to hide, she invited Roger to go with her when Max sent word through Dr. Grayle, begging to see his hostess. She did not want Roger to be present when she talked with Maxime Dalahaide for the first time since his escape. She would have liked to be alone with him, if that had been possible; but for the very reason that the wish was so strong in her heart, she denied it. Her cousin Roger had risked his life to please her, and she had a promise to keep. She meant to keep it; and he had a right to be by her side when she went to the man whom he had so nobly helped to save.

But Roger refused. "No, dear," he said. "Soon we shall be in the harbour at Samoa. There is plenty to do. I want to be on hand with George to do it. Let Dr. Grayle take you to Maxime. He will know how long and how much it is best for him to talk."

"We will be in harbour so soon?" exclaimed Virginia. "The Countess! She will try to get away, you know."

"She'll try in vain," responded Roger. "We won't give her a boat."

"But there'll be ships and boats in the harbour. She may call for help, and make us trouble."

"I'll see to her," said Roger. "I don't think we shall get much good out of detaining her; but we've gone so far now, we may as well go a little further."

They were talking in the saloon, out of which the cabins opened, but they had spoken in low voices, guarding against being overheard. Nor could they have been overheard, unless by some one making a special effort to listen. Such an effort the Countess de Mattos was making. She had kept to her cabin since the eventful night of the escape from New Caledonia, and had demanded her meals and other attentions with the air of an insulted queen claiming her just rights. She always bent herself eagerly to listen when she heard the murmur of voices in the saloon, especially if they seemed to be suppressed. She did not now catch every word, but she heard "the harbour of Samoa"; "soon in"; "the Countess—try to get away"; "call for help—make us trouble"; "I'll see to her"; and she pressed her lips together in fierce anger, her delicate nostrils quivering.

From her porthole she had not seen the land in sight, and had had no means of knowing that the time for her to act was so near at hand. Since the night of her terrible shock, she had revolved many plans in her mind, but the only one upon which she had definitely decided was to leave the Bella Cuba at all costs, and as soon as possible. Her nerves were not in a state to stand an indefinite strain, and she realized that she could not bear much more. Even with the chlorodyne and absinthe she hardly slept now, and she scarcely cared to project her thoughts beyond the time of escape from the hateful yacht.

Now, she had one thing for which to thank Virginia Beverly; the suggestion that she should call for help when the Bella Cuba had steamed into the harbour of Samoa. At once her excitable brain seized the picturesqueness of a dramatic situation. She saw herself, effectively dressed, rushing to the rail and hailing any passing ship which might be nearest. Sir Roger Broom, or her late friend George Trent, might try to stop her, but their violence would be seen from some other ship, and her cause against them would be strengthened.

Surely her appeals would not be ignored; men, of whatever class or country, were never blind to the distress of a woman as beautiful as she. Yes, she would be rescued. The story that she would tell must rouse indignation against Virginia Beverly and her companions. She herself had nothing to fear—nothing. And the man on whose advice she had spent years of exile would admire her more than ever, when he knew what she had endured, without breaking down. The end of her probation had come. The reason for delay had disappeared now, after all these years. They would marry, he and she, and he would help her to forget the past.

Manuela's reflections did not cause her to waste time. They were a mere accompaniment to her rapid action. Virginia had said they would soon be in the harbour. She must prepare herself to leave the yacht, and get ready to carry with her such things as were indispensable. Hurriedly she threw off the robe de chambre of silk and lace which she had been wearing, and put on a charming dress, suitable for travelling. The long outstanding account for this confection had been paid with Virginia Beverly's money; but that was a detail.

When she was ready to go up on deck—which she would do as soon as the yacht dropped anchor—she took her jewels from the large leather box where they were kept, and wrapping everything in a soft silk scarf, she stuffed the thick parcel into a handbag, which already held several mysterious-looking bottles with the labels carefully taken off. This bag was always locked, except when the Countess was at her toilet; then, for a brief time, the bottles came out, and a few tiny boxes and brushes; but she never forgot to put them back into the bag again, turn the key, and slip the latter on to the gold key-ring which she wore on her chatelaine.

The bag packed with jewels, as well as its legitimate contents, Manuela turned her attention to the larger luggage. This she could not carry away with her, if she were gallantly rescued from her sea-prison by a coup d'État; but it would be as well to have the things which she most valued ready to go later. She had filled her cabin-box, and was in the act of locking it, when the yacht's screw ceased to throb. The Bella Cuba had stopped. Orders were being shouted up above; and then came a grinding sound as the anchor was slowly dropped. The Countess de Mattos knew that they must be in the harbour of Samoa. She flung open the door of her cabin and stepped out into the saloon. There sat George Trent, who, as she appeared, looked up from a book which he was reading, or seemed to read.

"Good morning, Countess," he said coolly, rising and flinging away his book. "I'm glad you're better, but I don't think, now I see you in the light, that you look well enough to be out."

"I was never ill," she answered haughtily—for Virginia Beverly's brother could only be an enemy.

"It's mighty brave of you to try and keep up like this," said George, "but that was a bad attack of yours the other night. I can see you're not fit yet. You'd better go back and lie down while we coal. The blacks will be flying around, you know, and you'll get them in your lungs."

"Let me pass," exclaimed the Countess, making a rush to push by him and reach the companionway.

"I'd do a good deal for you, Countess, but I can't do that," retorted George. "It's against the doctor's orders."

"How dare you!" she panted. "Oh, you shall suffer for this!"

"All I'm worried about now is that you don't suffer. You really mustn't excite yourself. It's not good, you know. It's as much as my place is worth to let you upstairs. I expect it would be the best thing for your health to go and lie down, but if you won't do that, why, I'll try and entertain you here as well as I can."

The beautiful woman looked the tall young man full in the eyes, hers dilated and burning with the impotent fury in her soul. She was wise enough to see that he was not to be beguiled. If he, like other men, had his price, nothing that she could offer would pay it. He did not mean to let her go up on deck, and it would be as useless as undignified to attempt carrying out her will with a high hand. If there were any hope, it was in stratagem. Without breaking another lance against the impenetrable armour of his obstinacy, she turned her back upon him, swept into her cabin, and shut the door. Having done so—her little bag still grasped in her hand—she flew to the porthole and peered out. If a boat had been passing, or a ship at anchor visible near by, she would have screamed for help; but nothing promising was to be seen for the moment.

Meanwhile, Virginia had spent the most heavenly half-hour of her life. She had been so divinely happy that she had forgotten the danger ahead. To sit beside Max Dalahaide, to meet his eyes, tragic no longer, but bright with passionate gratitude; to know that he was out of danger, that he would live, and owe his life to her and hers; to hear the thanks, spoken stammeringly, but straight from his heart, filled her with an ecstasy such as she had never known. It was akin to pain, and yet it was worth dying for, just to have felt it once.

She was with him still when the yacht dropped anchor.

"This is Samoa?" he said, half rising on his elbow, and a quick flush springing to his thin cheeks.

"Yes," Virginia answered. "But there is no danger. My cousin says they will dare nothing. We shall have coaled in a couple of hours, and then——"

At this moment a sound of voices came through the open porthole, which was on the side of the yacht opposite to Manuela's.

Some one in a boat was calling to some one on the deck of the Bella Cuba; and evidently the boat was near.

Virginia's sentence broke off. She forgot what she had been saying, and sprang to her feet, her heart in her throat. It was the Marchese Loria's voice that she had heard.

What could his presence here signify? Did it mean unexpected disaster? Involuntarily her frightened glance went to Maxime's face. Their eyes met. She saw in his that he, too, had recognized those once familiar tones.

"I will go on deck," she said brokenly, trying to control her voice. "I—when I can I will come back again. And—of course, Dr. Grayle, you will stay here."

"You may trust me," said the little brown man, with meaning in his words.