! You never thought of seeing the
expert who was down from New York about the heating of Mrs. Houston's
new orchid houses! I left the real man dead drunk in New York, in a
place he wouldn't leave in a hurry; and the week-end you spent at the
Houstons' I, and my plans, had the run of Mrs. Houston's library, that
neither she nor any one else ever goes into. And," he laughed outright,
"it was next _your_ sitting room, opening on the same upstairs balcony!
I had only to put my hand through an open window to scoop Van Ruyne's
emeralds out of their case while you had your back turned, writing the
note you sent _outside_ the case, instead of inside! Remember?" But this
time he did not laugh. "I missed fire about getting you that night,
thanks to that fool Wilbraham happening round with his car. But now I'll
take all I did this whole business for--and that's you,--Paulette
Valenka!"

Paulette never took her eyes from him. "That's a lie," she said quite
evenly. "Oh, not that you took the emeralds; I believe that. But it was
not only to get me into trouble. It was for themselves! You had to steal
something. You hadn't one penny."

"Not then!" Even in the gloom I saw two scarlet spots flare out like
sealing-wax on the always dead blondeness of Macartney's cheeks. I
thought I could hear his heart beat where I stood. "But I have now! With
the emeralds, your late friend Dudley's mine, and _you_,"--his voice was
unspeakably, insultingly significant, but that unheard rustle behind
him, growing nearer, more unmistakable, kept me motionless. "By heaven,
a man might call himself rich! Did you suppose Stretton here could fight
me? Why, I've been the secret wolf he never had the _nous_ to guess at!
I----" he swung around on me like light, his revolver six inches from my
ear. "Stand there," he shouted at me, "and die like Wilbraham, you----"

His hand dropped, his jaw fell with the half-spoken words in it; his
eyes, all pupils, stared over my shoulder. I turned and saw
Dudley,--Dudley, silent, watching us both; saw him even before I grabbed
the gun out of Macartney's hanging, lax hand. But Macartney never so
much as felt me do it. He stared paralyzed at Dudley--little, fat, with
a face like a hard-boiled egg--standing silent against the dark of the
inner cave.

Dudley had a nerve when you came through to it. "I've not died, yet," he
snarled out suddenly.

I had the only gun in the place and the drop on Macartney; but I never
stirred. T