When he had stalked away through the snaplock-guarded private entrance,
there came over Lilienthal's face a spasm of deadly hatred. "The
dirty dog!" he growled, as he unlocked a cabinet and drank heavily.
"It must be true. This young fellow Clayton is here on duty every
day; he looks wolfish, too. I wonder if he really loved the girl.
Well, I shall soon have my day. If Braun ever presents that letter
in Hamburg the friends there will have received my secret message
by our No. II, who goes over this trip. A walk around the docks,
and a knife stab in the back will settle Braun. He knows too much
to be allowed to run loose in Europe. He would like to spoil our
game; he shall spoil his own." And the traitor hastened away to
entrap Braun, little dreaming that the acute druggist would never
trust himself to the hands of the "gang" at Hamburg.

Randall Clayton had been startled by Madame Raffoni's eager
disclosure as he approached the place of rendezvous. He had studied
the still handsome face of the disguised Leah Einstein when she told
him that the Fraulein was really ill and most unhappy. He managed
to pick out from her dialect that the diva had been plunged in some
secret sorrow.

Quietly restraining himself, he watched the voluptuous form of
the Jewess mingle with the crowd of guests on the hotel terrace.
"That poor woman, a worn-out theater beauty, is without guile. What
can this mean?"

He had rightly judged the good-hearted Leah's concern, and he never
knew of the long hours of the discarded mistress' ministrations
to the "reigning beauty."