“Look here, Miss Garrison,” said the man, quietly. “I am no priest, but you have nothing to fear because of that fact. The truth is, I am a detective. For a month I was in the employ of Prince Ravorelli, and it was no honest business, I can tell you. What I have done to-night is straight and honest. I mean you no harm, and you have but to follow my instructions in order to find yourself safe in Brussels once more. I have been interested in a number of queer transactions but let me say this in my own defence: I was never employed in any game so detestable, so low, as the one your noble prince was playing when you were snatched away from him. The only regret I have in taking you back to your mother comes from the fear that you may go ahead and marry that knave.” Dorothy was listening, with wide eyes and bated breath, to the words of the lounging smoker. “I will never, never marry him,” she cried, vehemently. “Stick to that resolve, my child,” said Courant, with mock benevolence. “He is a scoundrel, and I cut loose from him to do this little job down here on my own responsibility.” “Tell me, if you know, did he plan to kill Mr. Quentin? I must have the truth,” she cried, eagerly. “He did worse than that. He made the attempt, or rather his agents did. You see, Quentin was a dangerous rival because he knew too much.” “I don't understand.” “Well, he knew all about the prince when he was with the opera company in Brazil. I can't tell you much about it, but there was a murder committed over there and your prince was believed to be guilty. A woman was killed, I believe. Quentin knew all about it, it seems.” “And never told me?” she cried. “He was not positive, I suppose. There was the danger of being mistaken, and this American friend of yours seems honest. He only told you what he knew to be a fact, I conclude.” “Yesterday I heard that a woman had been murdered in Brussels, a woman who came to warn me against the prince. Do you know who killed her?” “Good God! Has she been killed? Ah, I knew it would come; he was obliged to get rid of her. I did not know of her death, but I leave you to guess who was responsible for it. God, he is a devil! You owe a great deal, Mademoiselle, to the clever men who stole you from him.” “Alas, I am beginning to know it, now that it is too late. And he was ill when I stole away to-night. I implore you, take me back to the castle!” she pleaded, her heart wrung by the anguish in her soul.