t glare of it made him blink a little, but he swung
his revolver barrel just above it, and a little to the right. He was
more confident now, and quite collected. However it all turned out, it
could not be much worse than starving to death, unknown and alone in
some public square of Monaco.

As the tiny luminous circle flowered into wider flame the match was
held higher. Durkin could see the rose-like glow between the phalanges
of the fingers shielding the light. Then, of a sudden, a face grew out
of the blackness, a white face shadowed by a plumed hat. It was a
woman's face. Durkin lowered his revolver, slowly, inch by inch.

It was his wife who stood there in the darkness, not six paces away
from him.

"_You_!" he gasped involuntarily, incredibly. Sheer wonder survived
his instinctive recoil. It was the bolt, striking twice in the same
spot.

The two white faces looked at each other, gaped at each other,
insanely. He could see her breath come and go, shortly, and the
deathly pallor of her face, and the relaxed lower jaw that had fallen a
little away from the drooping upper lip. But she neither moved nor
spoke. The match burned to her finger-ends, and fell to the floor.
Darkness enveloped them again.

"You!" he repeatedly vacuously. The blackness and the silence seemed
to blanket and smother him, like something tangible to the touch. He
took three steps toward where she still stood motionless, and in an
agonized whisper cried out to her:

"_My God, Frank, what is it_?"

CHAPTER VI

THE WOMAN SPEAKS

"Ssssh!" said the woman under her breath, as she clutched Durkin's arm.

He shook her hand off, impatiently, although the act seemed at
cross-purposes with his own will.

"But you--here!" he still gasped.

"Oh, Jim!" she half-moaned, inadequately. Yet an _aura_ of calmness
seemed to surround her. So great was his own excitement that the words
burst from him of their own will, apparently, and sounded like the
utterance of a voice not his own.

"What's it mean! How'd you get here?"

He could hear her shuddering, indrawn sigh.

"What, in the name of heaven, do _you_ want in here? Why don't you
speak?"

There was a moment of unbroken silence. For the first time it seemed
to come home to him that this woman who confronted him was his own
wife, in the flesh and blood.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she demanded at last.

He responded, even in his mood of hot antagonism, to some note