For an instant the lifeblood around John Dinsmore’s heart seemed to stand still, and his eyes fairly bulged from their sockets. No, it was no trick of his imagination, the slim, aristocratic hand of his rival, upon which he gazed so breathlessly, bore upon it a ring of curious device--a serpent’s body, and deeply imbedded in the flat head was a triangle of diamonds, in the center of which was a large diamond of rare brilliancy and beauty. It was the identical ring his friends had described as being worn by the man whom they were at that moment hunting down to charge with a terrible crime. Ere he could utter the words that arose to his lips, Raymond Challoner turned away from him, saying, with a haughty sneer: “It is well you accept my challenge, John Dinsmore; I will meet you on the spot designated by you upon the beach, at exactly an hour from now. Until then adieu, most worthy champion of the fair sex, adieu!” Challoner walked down the length of the broad piazza with the easy, graceful swagger peculiar to him, his friends about him, talking in subdued voices, yet anxiously and excitedly, over the event which had just transpired, and discussing in still lower whispers the probable outcome of the meeting, until they were lost alike to sight and sound. Still John Dinsmore stood there where they had left him, like an image carved in stone, his eyes following the direction in which they had disappeared. And standing thus, a terrible temptation came to him, a temptation so strong that for a moment it almost overpowered him. He had only to send quickly for his friends, who had gone to the train to meet the detective, and tell them what he had seen, to bring about the overthrow of his rival in the very hour of his triumph. The lover who had been accepted by Queenie Trevalyn as her affianced husband, would be taken from the hotel in handcuffs. Ah, what a glorious revenge; sweetened by the thought that Challoner would thus be parted forever from the girl whom he had loved so madly, and lost. Then the nobler side of John Dinsmore’s nature struggled for mastery. Could he, a dismissed suitor, cast the first stone at his successful rival? Would it be manly, or ignoble? How Queenie Trevalyn would hate him for it! That thought settled the matter, his rival should not come to his downfall through him. Far better that Challoner’s bullet should pierce his heart. He stood quite motionless, leaning heavily against the massive pillar of the piazza, lost in deep reverie, thinking it all over. What had he to live for, now that Queenie Trevalyn was lost to him forever? Death seemed far more desirable to him than life--without her. He knew that Raymond Challoner was considered an excellent shot; that every one declared him particularly clever in the use of firearms; but that knowledge did not deter John Dinsmore from his purpose.