you must," and he came close to her and stared her
straight in the face.

"Ah, you will then. I can have it," said he, picking up his hat and the
stick. "Now, good-bye."

"Miss O'Flynn, will you leave the room?" said a voice behind him that
made him start round as he was making his way to the door.

He paused thunderstruck, as his eyes rested on Reg's pale face with its
look of fierce determination.

"Villiers Wyckliffe we meet at last."

The silence in the room was profound, broken only by the fall of Wyck's
hat on the floor, as his trembling fingers lost their power of grasp.

"Morris!" he gasped.

"Yes, I am Reg Morris."

At this announcement Wyck's first idea was flight, and he made for the
door.

"Don't trouble yourself, the door is locked. There is no escape for you
now," said Reg, sternly.

Wyck watched his adversary for a moment. Then he came forward, smiling,
and said, "My dear Morris, I was most sorry to hear of your trouble.
Believe me, I beg your pardon, sincerely, for any wrong I did you."

"Stand aside, you scoundrel. You killed the girl I had loved for years.
You made it your sport to break our hearts. Your chosen device is a
broken heart. See I have provided you with an excellent reproduction of
it, and, in order that you may carry it with you wherever you go, that
it may always be in evidence, I am going to brand your charming device
on both your ears."

The relentless, menacing tone chilled him and sapped his self-control.
At heart Wyck was a coward, but he was a calculating villain as well.
His lips quivered and his face paled. His voice shook as he whined:

"Mercy, Morris. Mercy! I'll forfeit anything, I'll do anything you like,
to make amends. I never meant--"

"But I do mean it, you grovelling coward. And if you take my advice
you'll submit, for it has to be done."

Again the cold, cruel tone made him shiver, but the bully in Wyck's
nature reasserted itself as he shouted:

"You won't. You won't, for I'll shoot you, you hound," and he levelled a
revolver he had taken from his pocket at Reg's head.

Reg laughed a hard, unnatural laugh, as he sprang forward and, knocking
his arm up, planted a blow well between his eyes. The bullet lodged
harmlessly in the ceiling and Wyck lay in a heap on the floor.

"Come, doctor," cried Reg, as between them they hauled the struggling
man to a sofa. Reg smothered his cries, and a few minutes later he was
under chloroform. Reg's stern determinat