ms?"

John Arthur lifts his head, then staggers to his feet. "Curse you!" he
cries. "Curse you all! What proof have I that these people will
respect my feelings?"

"You have my word," replies the girl, coolly. "These gentlemen of the
Secret Service are not given to gossip. Mr. Davlin will have but
little opportunity for circulating scandal where he is going. Mr.
Percy, and your wife, will hardly remain in the neighborhood long
enough to injure you here, unless by your own choice. Your sister will
scarcely betray you, and the rest are my friends. Choose!"

Pallid with rage and shame, the old man turned toward Cora.

"You she-devil!" he screams, "this is your work--"

"No," interposes Madeline, calmly, "it is _your_ work, John Arthur!
What you have sown, you are reaping. Will you have all your guilty
past, your shameful present, made known? Or will you leave my mother's
home and mine, and cease to usurp my rights? Choose!"

Every eye is turned upon the old man and his questioner. Every ear is
intently listening for his answer.

Every ear, do we say? No; one man is only feigning rapt attention; one
mind is turning over wicked possibilities, while the others await,
with different degrees of eagerness or curiosity, John Arthur's
answer.

"Needs must when the devil drives," says the baffled old man, turning
toward the door. "I will go, and I leave my curse behind me!"

This is the moment which Lucian Davlin has watched. While all eyes are
turned toward John Arthur, he bends suddenly forward. He has wrenched
the pistol from one of his guardians, and the weapon is aimed at
Madeline's heart!

Instantaneously there is a quick, panther-like spring, and Claire
Keith's little hand strikes the arm that directs the deadly weapon.
There is a sharp report, but the direction of the bullet is changed.

Madeline Payne stands erect and startled, while Edward Percy falls to
the floor, the blood gushing from a wound in his breast. In another
instant, Lucian Davlin lies prostrate, felled by a blow from one
detective, while the other bends over him and savagely adjusts a pair
of manacles.

The others, even to Cora, group themselves about the wounded man. Dr.
Vaughan kneels beside him a moment, then he lifts his eyes to meet
those of Madeline.

"It is a death wound," he says.

"Prepare a couch in the next room directly. He must not be carried
up-stairs."

When this order has been obeyed, and the injured man has been removed,