and powers of persuasion. Not that I meant to make his mistake and
undervalue him; he was an intelligent, capable, remarkable
criminal--with the one failing--an overconfident contempt of _all_
men.

"There is one thing I want to ask you," said I. "Why do you desire
to go to Paradise?"

He did not answer me at once, and I studied his passionless profile as
he gazed out of the window.

"Well," he said, slowly, "I shall not tell you."

"Why not?" I demanded.

"--But I'll say this," he continued. "I want you to come to Paradise
with me and that fool of a woman. I want you to report to your
government that you are watching the house in Paradise, and that you
are hoping to catch me there."

"How can I do that?" I asked. "As soon as the government catches the
Countess de Vassart she will be sent across the frontier."

"Not if you inform your government that you desire to use her and the
others as a bait to draw me to Paradise."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" I asked, thoughtfully.

"Yes," said Buckhurst, "that's it."

"And you do not desire to inform me why you are going to stay in
Paradise?"

"Don't you think you'll be clever enough to find out?" he asked, with
a sneer.

I did think so; more than that, I let him see that I thought so, and
he was contented with my conceit.

"One thing more," I said, blustering a little, "I want to know
whether you mean any harm to that innocent girl?"

"Who? The Countess? What do you mean? Harm her? Do you think I waste
my thoughts on that little fool? She is not a factor in
anything--except that just now I'm using her and mean to use her house
in Paradise."

"Haven't you stripped her of every cent she has?" I asked. "What do
you want of her now?" And I added something about respect due to
women.

"Oh yes, of course," he said, with a vague glance at the street
below. "You need not worry; nobody's going to hurt her--" He suddenly
shifted his eyes to me. "You haven't taken a fancy to her, have
you?" he asked, in faint disgust.

I saw that he thought me weak enough for any sentiment, even a noble
one.

"If you think it pays," he muttered, "marry her and beat her, for
all I care; but don't play loose with me, my friend; as a plain matter
of business it won't pay you."

"Is that a threat?" I asked, in the bullying tone of a born coward.

"No, not a threat, a plain matter of profit and loss, a simple
business proposition. For, suppose you betray me--and, by a miracle,
live