ch was probably, under the
circumstances, the best possible restorative.

"You'll die more than once in imagination before your time comes,
Fatalite. Probably the next parcel you receive will not need as much
investigation."

She tried to smile. "I'm sorry! They looked so uncanny, and when I
saw red I thought--Emile, what does it all mean?"

"It means danger, my dear. It means that you are suspected. You
yourself best know whether the suspicion is deserved or not. Of course
it may be only one of the police tricks, but I don't think so. Anyway
whether it was charged or not it's safe enough now. Look in the box
and on the floor to see if there's any note or message. There isn't?
_Eh bien_! I suppose they thought this would speak with sufficient
eloquence."

He fished the bedraggled bouquet out of the water and hung it like a
trophy across Arithelli's mirror, which was a fetish of its owner and
the one valuable thing she now possessed. It had been the gift of
Michael Furness, who had bought it from the Jewish herbalist. It was
of antique silver gilt in oval shape, and rimmed with rough topaz set
in silver, and was alleged by its former owner to have been the
property of Agnes Sorel. Arithelli had often declared that in it she
could see visions as in a crystal.

Over it Emile carefully arranged the flowers so that the stained red
ribbons hung limply across the polished surface. Then he sat down
again and lighted another cigarette.

"You ought not to be afraid of this sort of thing, you know," he said.
"Sudden death is part of our business. In the oath we take we swear to
'Slay or be slain,' if by so doing we can advance the Cause one small
step forward."

She caught at her breast with a sudden gesture of passion.
Death--could they talk and think of nothing else? And she was a woman
now, not a weapon, and she wanted life.

"You don't seem very enthusiastic," the cold voice continued. "A few
months ago the dangerous side of the game was rather an attraction to
you than otherwise. Now you shrink and shiver at everything. You do
your work, yes, because, you can't help doing that, but is there any
heart in what you do?"

"None! Every day I live, I loathe it more!"

"Take care!"

"I'm past caring. When I came out here first I was a child playing at
a new game."

Emile's back was turned to her, and if his answering speech was brutal,
it was because his conscience was awake and crying fiercely.