,
reluctantly, he opened one of the papers.

A light breeze from the shining sea before him carried off the wrapping.
The paper which he opened shook in his trembling hands, as his eyes
sought the reports of the murder. He gave a sudden start and a tremor
ran through his frame. He had come to the spot which told of the arrest
of another man, who was under shadow of punishment for the crime which
he himself had committed. When he had read this report through, he
turned to the other papers. He was quite calm now, outwardly calm at
least.

When he had finished reading the papers he laid them in a heap beside
him and reached out for his notebook. As he opened it the two watchers
saw that between its first pages there was a sealed and addressed
letter. Two other envelopes were contained in the notebook, envelopes
which were also addressed although still open. Muller's sharp eyes could
read the addresses as Thorne took them up in turn, looking long at each
of them. One envelope was addressed in Italian to the Chief of Police of
Venice, the other to the Chief of Police in Vienna.

The two watchers leaned forward, scarcely three yards above the man in
whom they were interested. Thorne tore out two leaves of his notebook
and wrote several lines on each of them. One note, he placed in the
envelope addressed to the Viennese police and sealed it carefully. Then
he put the sealed letter with the second note in the other envelope, the
one addressed to the Italian police. He put all the letters back in his
notebook, holding it together with a rubber strap, and replaced it in
his pocket.

Then he stretched out his hand toward the revolver.

The sand came rattling down upon him, the thistles bent over creakingly
and two figures appeared beside him.

"There's time enough for that yet, Mr. Thorne," said the man at whom the
painter gazed up in bewilderment. And then this man took the revolver
quietly from his hand and hid it in his own pocket.

Thorne pressed his teeth down on his lips until the blood came. He
could not speak; he looked first at the stranger who had mastered him so
completely, and then, in dazed astonishment, at the woman who had sunk
down beside him in the sand, clasping his hand in both of hers.

"Adele! Adele! 'Why are you here?" he stammered finally.

"I want to be with you--in this hour," she answered, looking at him with
eyes of worship. "I want to be with my dear lady--to comfort her--to
protect her when-