into tears. Then, amidst her
sobs, she told him of the stranger's visit, of his terrible accusations,
of his demands, his expected return, and her own utter helplessness. To
her terror, as she went on she saw a singular change in his kind face;
he was following her with hard, eager intensity. She had half hoped,
even through her fateful instincts, that he might have laughed, manlike,
at her fears, or pooh-poohed the whole thing. But he did not. "You say
he positively recognized your husband?" he repeated quickly.

"Yes, yes!" sobbed the widow, "and knew that daguerreotype!" she pointed
to the desk.

Brooks turned quickly in that direction. Luckily his back was towards
her, and she could not see his face, and the quick, startled look that
came into his eyes. But when they again met hers, it was gone, and even
their eager intensity had changed to a gentle commiseration. "You have
only his word for it, Mrs. Wade," he said gently, "and in telling your
secret to another, you have shorn the rascal of half his power over you.
And he knew it. Now, dismiss the matter from your mind and leave it all
to me. I will be here a few minutes before nine--AND ALONE IN THIS ROOM.
Let your visitor be shown in here, and don't let us be disturbed. Don't
be alarmed," he added with a faint twinkle in his eye, "there will be no
fuss and no exposure!"

It lacked a few minutes of nine when Mr. Brooks was ushered into the
sitting-room. As soon as he was alone he quietly examined the door and
the windows, and having satisfied himself, took his seat in a chair
casually placed behind the door. Presently he heard the sound of voices
and a heavy footstep in the passage. He lightly felt his waistcoat
pocket--it contained a pretty little weapon of power and precision, with
a barrel scarcely two inches long.

The door opened, and the person outside entered the room. In an instant
Brooks had shut the door and locked it behind him. The man turned
fiercely, but was faced by Brooks quietly, with one finger calmly hooked
in his waistcoat pocket. The man slightly recoiled from him--not as much
from fear as from some vague stupefaction. "What's that for? What's your
little game?" he said half contemptuously.

"No game at all," returned Brooks coolly. "You came here to sell a
secret. I don't propose to have it given away first to any listener."

"YOU don't--who are YOU?"

"That's a queer question to ask of the man you are trying to
personate--but I don