"You flatter me," he replied. "As a matter of fact it was a very hurried and rather clumsy piece of work. Any intelligent person would probably have seen through it at once." He pulled out an envelope from his pocket and held it up mockingly in front of me. "This is the touching and affectionate original," he added. "It was given to Marie by Christine, and, like a good servant, the old lady promptly handed it on to me. Very trustworthy domestics the French, Dryden." For a moment I made no answer. The sight of Christine's letter in that brute's hands sent such a fresh wave of anger surging through me that I was afraid I should be unable to control my voice. "I won't read it to you," he continued. "You might find it upsetting, and I should like your last moments to be really peaceful and happy." He paused. "Besides, you would probably be more interested to hear about my own future arrangements, especially as, to a rather important extent, they involve those of Miss de Roda." He put the letter back into his pocket, and once more surveyed me with the same Satanic enjoyment. "I have been fortunate enough to get hold of a really nice little ocean-going steam yacht, Dryden. At the present moment she is lying in the harbour at Rotterdam, and by to-morrow night we hope to be well on our way to the South Seas." He glanced round again carelessly at de Roda, who was still scrabbling amongst the treasure, apparently blind and deaf to our presence. "For Christine and myself," he continued softly, "the voyage will be full of romance. It will be our honeymoon, Dryden; a rather unwilling one on her part, perhaps, but none the less enjoyable for that." I bit my lip until I could feel the blood trickling into my mouth. "A pleasant family party at first," he went on, in a still lower voice; "but between ourselves, I don't think we shall be troubled with the old gentleman's company for very long. It would be sad, of course, if anything were to happen, but I shall do my best to console Christine. I fancy she has one of those rare natures which will respond to affectionate treatment." God knows how much more of this I could have stood, but at that instant the baize door opened and Craill re-entered the hall. He had a bundle of newspapers under his arm, and was carrying a large tin of paraffin and a canvas bag. Manning relieved him of the latter, and held it up to the light. "That will do, Craill," he observed, handing it back. "You can put down the other things and help Mr. de Roda pack away the stones. We shall be leaving very shortly." He turned towards me again, brushing off a patch of mud which he had apparently just noticed on his sleeve.