at last, however, fresh and eager; her hair tied up with ribbon, she
herself clad in a pink dressing-gown and pink slippers.

"David!" she cried, - "my dear David -!"

Then she broke off.

"What is it?" she asked, in a different tone.

He showed her the headlines of the newspaper he was carrying.

"Tragedy!" he answered hoarsely. "Von Behrling was true, after all,
- at least, it seems so."

"What has happened?" she demanded.

Bellamy pointed once more to the newspaper.

"He was murdered last night, within fifty yards of the place of our
rendezvous."

A little exclamation broke from Louise's lips. She sat down
suddenly. The color called into her cheeks by the exercise of her
bath was rapidly fading away.

"David," she murmured, "is this true?"

"It is indeed," Bellamy assured her. "Not only that, but there is
no mention of his pocket-book in the account of his murder. It must
have been engineered by Streuss and the others, and they have got