st idea of the identity of the man to
whom I am referring," he continued. "Your friend Vardri is not a very
careful person. He is young, and shall we say, a little foolish. It
is always risky to say or write anything against the Cause one is
supposed to be serving."

"To say _or write_." It dawned upon her all at once. The piece of the
letter she had missed, had been dropped in the stable up in the hills
and found by Sobrenski. It was all her own fault, sheer rank
carelessness. Emile had so often warned her against her fatal habit of
leaving everything about. She never locked up anything, jewellery,
clothes, money or papers.

Perhaps in the hurry of dressing that night, she had only taken with
her the first page, and when she was out her rooms had been searched,
and the rest stolen. Sobrenski would stop at nothing to get the
evidence he wanted. If she accused him of having taken it he would
simply deny the charge, and to seem anxious would be further evidence
that the letter contained something that would compromise either Vardri
or herself. In any case it appeared that the mischief was done. To
expect either justice or mercy from her enemy was out of the question.
She would try and fight him with his own weapon, feign ignorance, tell
lies if necessary.

"Vardri? What has he done?"

The note of surprise in her voice was well assumed and she could
control her face, but her hands betrayed her. Sobrenski had seen the
blue veins stand out and the knuckles whiten unnaturally with the
pressure on the black fan she carried to shield her eyes in the street.

"Done?" he echoed contemptuously. "Nothing so far. He has only talked
and written. It is to provide against his doing anything important
that the Committee have decided upon his removal. There was a meeting
held last night and the voting was unanimous. Vardri has been
condemned as a traitor to his vows, and a danger to everyone connected
with our work."

"Condemned without a hearing!" the girl flamed out. "_Mon Dieu_! Your
justice! What has he done?"

"Have you a right to question the judgment of the Committee?" The
voice was like a scourge falling on bare flesh. Arithelli drew her
shoulders together involuntarily.

"No!" she answered.

"Yet you do it! These womanly inconsistencies are a little fatiguing."

Sobrenski caressed his beard with a narrow, bloodless hand, on the
middle finger of which was a curious ring of twisted gold wire.