have hit the mark.

Gascoigne's body turned over and then sank, leaving a small crimson
stain upon the water.

Was he killed? Drowned? That is what no one could tell; but it was
certain that no corpse answering the Englishman's description was ever
recovered from the river; nor, on the other hand, did the police, in
spite of an active pursuit, lay hands on their prisoner again alive.




CHAPTER IV.

A SPIDER'S WEB.


Some half a dozen years after the occurrences just recorded there was
a great gathering one night at Essendine House, a palatial mansion
occupying the whole angle of a great London square. The
reception-rooms upon the first floor, five of them, and all _en
suite_, and gorgeously decorated in white and gold, were brilliantly
lighted and thrown open to the best of London society. Lady Essendine
was at home to her friends, and seemingly she had plenty of them, for
the place was thronged.

The party was by way of being musical--that is to say, a famous
pianist had been engaged to let off a lot of rockets from his
finger-tips, and a buffo singer from the opera roared out his "Figaro