on expressed nothing. In fact, Beavais was smiling.
There was a sinister something behind that smile, but Maurice was
unobservant.

He went on. "Yes, to South America. I was there in a diplomatic
capacity, during one of the many revolutions. This country was the
paradise of adventurers, the riff-raff of continental social outcasts.
I distinctly remember the leader of this revolution. Up to the very last
day, Captain Urquijo was the confidential friend of the president whom
he was about to ruin. Through the president's beautiful daughter Urquijo
picked up his threads and laid his powder train. The woman loved him as
women sometimes love rascals. The president was to be assassinated
and his rival installed. Captain Urquijo was to be made General of the
armies.

"One fine day the troops lined both sides of the plaza, the square
also about which lay the government buildings. It was the event of some
celebration; I believe the throwing off of the yoke of Spain. The
city flocked into the plaza. Strangely enough, those who were
disaffected--the soldiers under Urquijo--faced the loyal troops. By
a preconceived plan, the artillery was under the command of Urquijo.
Suddenly this Captain's murderous and traitorous guns swept the plaza,
mangling women and children. There was a flaw, however, in the stroke.
Urquijo fled, a reward posted for his head--mind you, his head; they did
not want him alive.

"The daughter expiates her foolish love in a convent. Her disgraces
proved too much for her father, who blew out his brains. The successor
secured extradition papers in all the leading capitals of the world. The
story was the sensation of the day; the newspapers made much of it. All
governments offered to assist the republic in hounding down this rascal.
To whatever country he belonged, that country promised to disown him."

Maurice took the photograph and cast it into Beauvais's lap. "Do
you recognize that face? Is it not a mute accusation to your warped
conscience?" The voice, changing from the monotone of narrative, grew
strong and contemptuous. "I know you. I recognized you the moment I laid
eyes on you, only I could not place you. Perhaps it was because it
did not seem possible that you would dare show your face to civilized
people. That photograph has done its work. By the Lord, but you're a
fine rascal! Not a bit changed. Have you forgotten your Spanish? As God
hears me, I shall hold you up."

"You are a very young man," sai