he faced him suddenly resolute, defiant.

"What are you going to do?" she asked. "You do not accuse me of the
murder of your two friends; you cannot even accuse me of the attempt on
Mr. Farrington. You know so much of my history," she went on, speaking
rapidly, "that you may as well know more. Years ago, Mr. Smith, I was
engaged to a man, and we were passionately fond of one another. His name
was George Doughton."

"The explorer," nodded T. B.

"He went abroad," she continued, "suddenly and unexpectedly, breaking
off our engagement for no reason that I could ascertain, and all my
letters to him, all my telegrams, and every effort I made to get in
touch with him during the time he was in Africa were without avail. For
four years I had no communication from him, no explanation of his
extraordinary behaviour, and then suddenly I received news of his death.
At first it was thought he had died as a result of fever, but Dr.
Goldworthy who came to see me convinced me that George Doughton was
poisoned by somebody who was interested in his death."

Her voice trembled, but with an effort she recovered herself.

"All these years I have not forgotten him, his face has never left my
mind, he has been as precious to me as though he were by my side in the
flesh. Love dies very hard in women of my age, Mr. Smith," she said,
"and love injured and outraged as mine has been developed all the tiger
passion which women can nurture. I have learnt for the first time why
George Doughton went out to his death. He used to tell me," she said, as
she rose from her chair, and paced the room slowly, "that when you are
shooting wild beasts you should always shoot the female of the species
first, because if she is left to the last she will avenge her
slaughtered mate. There is a terrible time coming for somebody," she
said, speaking deliberately.

"For whom?" asked T. B.

She smiled.

"I think you know too much already, Mr. Smith," she said; "you must find
out all the rest in your own inimitable way; so far as I am concerned,
you must leave me to work out my plan of vengeance. That sounds horribly
melodramatic, but I am just as horribly in earnest, as you shall learn.
They took George Doughton from me and they murdered him; the man who did
this was Montague Fallock, and I am perhaps the only person in the world
who has met Montague Fallock in life and have known him to be what he
is."

She would say no more, and T. B. was too cautious a man