"Good Lord!" he fairly gasped, "that simplifies matters!" She turned like a flash and found his face radiant with joy. It was hard for her to believe her own senses. He actually was rejoicing; she had expected him to groan with despair. It is no wonder that her plan of action was demolished on the instant; it is not surprising that every vestige of resourcefulness was swept away by this amazing reverse. She stared at him so pathetically, so helplessly, that he laughed aloud. "I know what you're thinking," he said, and there was no mistaking the lightness of his heart. "I don't blame you for being shocked if you thought I had come back to such a fate as you evidently pictured. Betty, by Jove, you'll never know how happy you've made me!" "I--I am surprised. Agatha told me that you--you--" "And she's really married? Never mind what she told you. It doesn't matter now. Is she happy?" "She adores her husband--young Jimmy Cannable. You know him. She will be crazy with joy, Harry, when she finds out that you, too, are happy. She was half mad with remorse and all that. It will--" "Heavens, Betty, I thought I was the remorseful one. By George, I love you for telling me this!" A shocking suspicion hurtled through her brain. "You mean, there is--another woman?" she said with a brave effort. She even smiled accusingly. "Some day I'll tell you all about it," he said evasively. "I--I suppose it would be all right for me to go round and call on Agatha this evening." "She is not in town. California," said Betty. "Great Scott! In California?" The dismay in his face was even greater than the relief of the moment before. "Not exactly. She's on her way." "By George, I wonder if I can catch her by wire? I must--I really must see her." He was so agitated that she observed beads of perspiration starting on his brow. She was mystified beyond description. Was he, after all, she found herself wondering, playing a part? Was it in his crafty heart to follow and kill Agatha Holmes! "Oh, no,--you can't do that," she protested quickly. "Won't you--come out to dinner tonight?" she added somewhat confusedly. "We can talk over old times." "Thanks, Betty, but I can't." At the same time he glanced uneasily at a cab which drove along close behind them. "You were going to call upon Agatha," she pouted. "But not at dinner-time," he said, mopping his brow. "I'll come up about nine, if I may." He came at nine, a trifle out of breath and uneasy in his manner. The great Green ruby hung from the chain that encircled Betty's slim, pretty neck. Its soft red eye glowed like a coal against the white skin, but if she thought to surprise him with it, she was to be disappointed. He did not look at it. She did not know at the time that a giant Patagonian stood beneath the gas lamp at the corner above the Carrithers mansion in St. Charles Avenue. His gaunt, dark face was turned toward her doorway and his fierce eyes seemed to bore holes through the solid oak.