pulse. All the time Sirdeller watched him, his lips a little
parted, a world of hungry excitement in his eyes. The doctor closed his
watch with a snap and whispered something in Sirdeller's ear, apparently
reassuring.

"I will hear this story," Sirdeller announced. "In two minutes every one
must leave. If it takes longer it must remain unfinished."

Peter spoke up briskly.

"The story is this," he began. "You have promised to assist the Prince
of Marsine to transform Spain into a republic, providing the salvage
operations on the _Maine_ prove that that ship was destroyed from
outside. The salvage operations have been conducted at your expense, and
finished. It has been proved that the _Maine_ was destroyed by a mine or
torpedo from the outside. Therefore, on the assumption that it was the
treacherous deed of a Spaniard or Cuban imagining himself to be a
patriot, you are prepared to carry out your undertaking and supply the
Prince of Marsine with means to overthrow the kingdom of Spain."

Peter paused. The figure on the chair remained motionless. No flicker of
intelligence or interest disturbed the calm of his features. It was a
silence almost unnatural.

"I have brought the Duchesse here," Peter continued, "to tell you the
truth as to the _Maine_ disaster."

Not even then was there the slightest alteration in those ashen grey
features.

The Duchesse looked up. She had the air of one only too eager to speak
and finish.

"In those days," she said, "I was the wife of a rich Cuban gentleman
whose name I withhold. The American officers on board the _Maine_ used
to visit at our house. My husband was jealous; perhaps he had cause."

The Duchesse paused. Even though the light of tragedy and romance side
by side seemed suddenly to creep into the room, Sirdeller listened as
one come back from a dead world.

"One night," the Duchesse went on, "my husband's suspicions were changed
into knowledge. He came home unexpectedly. The American--the officer--I
loved him--was there on the balcony with me. My husband said nothing.
The officer returned to his ship. That night my husband came into my
room. He bent over my bed. 'It is not you,' he whispered, 'whom I shall
destroy, for the pain of death is short. Anguish of mind may live.
To-night, six hundred ghosts may hang about your pillow!'"

Her voice broke. There was something grim and unnatural in that curious
stillness. Even the secretary was at last breathing a little faste