open the drawer of his desk and slammed in the
cheque-book, closing it with a bang.

"Well, I'll give you nothing," he said, "neither mill nor money. You can
clear out of here."

He crossed the room to the telephone.

"What are you going to do?" asked Pinto, secretly alarmed.

"I'm going to send for the police," said the other grimly. "I'm going to
give myself up and I'm going to pinch thee too!"

If Crotin had turned the handle of the old-fashioned telephone, if he
had continued in his resolution, if he had shown no sign of doubt, a
different story might have been told. But with his hand raised, he
hesitated, and Pinto clinched his argument.

"Why have all that trouble?" he said. "Your liberty and reputation are
much more to you than a mill. You're a rich man. Your wife is wealthy in
her own right. You have enough to live on for the rest of your life.
Why make trouble?"

The little man dropped his head with a groan and walked wearily back to
the desk.

"Suppose I sell this?" he said in a low voice. "How do I know you won't
come again----"

"When a gentleman gives his word of honour," began Pinto with dignity,
but was interrupted by a shrill laugh that made his blood run cold.

He swung round with an oath. Framed in an opening of the curtains which
covered one of the windows was the Figure!

The black silk gown, the white masked face, the soft felt hat pulled
down over the eyes--his teeth chattered at the sight of it, and he fell
back against the wall.

"Who wouldn't trust Pinto?" squeaked the voice. "Who wouldn't take
Pinto's word of honour? Jack o' Judgment wouldn't, poor old Jack o'
Judgment!"

Jack o' Judgment! The soldier behind the settee heard the words and
gasped. Without any thought of consequence he raised his head and
looked. The Jack o' Judgment was standing where he expected him to be.
He had come through the window which the soldier had left unbarred. This
time he carried no weapon in his hand, and Pinto was quick to see the
possibilities. The electric switch was within reach, and his hand shot
out. There was a click and the room went dark.

But the figure of Jack o' Judgment was silhouetted against the night,
and Pinto whipped out the long knife which never left him and sent it
hurtling at his enemy. He saw the figure duck, heard the crash of broken
glass, and then Jack o' Judgment vanished. In a rage which was three
parts terror, he sprang through the open French windows on to the
terr