Bitter memories had, of late, constantly arisen within him. Certain scenes of violence, even of tragedy, in that beautiful flower-embowered villa beside the Mediterranean at Beaulieu, half-way between Nice and Monte Carlo, had recurred vividly to him. He was unable to wipe those horrible visions from the tablets of his memory. He had realized, at last, what a pitiless blackguard he had been, so he had resolved to end it all. And now, just as he had made up his mind, Arnold Du Cane had arrived unexpectedly from Milan with an entirely new and original scheme--one in which the risk of detection was infinitesimal, while the stakes were high enough to merit serious consideration. He had refused to be a party to the transaction, whereupon Du Cane had revived a subject which he had fondly believed to be buried for ever--that terrible affair which had startled and mystified the whole world, and which had had such an important political bearing that, by it, the destinies of a great nation had actually been changed. A certain man--a great man--had died, but until that hour Phil Poland's connection with the tragedy had never been suspected. Yet, from what Arnold Du Cane had just said, he saw that the truth was actually known, and he realized that his own position was now one of distinct insecurity. He was silent, full of wonder. How could Arnold have gained his knowledge? What did he know? How much did he know? The strength of his defiance must be gauged upon the extent of Arnold's knowledge. He set his teeth hard. The scandal was one which must never see the light of day, he told himself. Upon the suppression of the true facts depended the honour and welfare of a nation. Arnold Du Cane knew the truth. Of that, there could be no doubt. Did he intend to use this knowledge in order to secure his assistance in this latest dastardly scheme? At last, after a long silence, Poland asked in as cool a voice as he could-- "What causes you to suspect that Sonia knows anything?" "Well," replied this crafty, round-faced visitor, "considering how that young Russian let out at you when you were walking with her that moonlight night out in the garden, I don't think there can be much doubt that she is fully aware of the mysterious source of her father's income." "Sonia doesn't know Russian. The fellow spoke in that language, I remember," was his reply. "Yet I was a fool, I know, to have taken her over that accursed place--that hell in paradise. She is always perfectly happy at the Hotel de Luxembourg at Nice, where each season she makes some pleasant friends, and never suspects the reason of my absences." "All of us are fools at times, Phil," was his visitor's response, as he selected a fresh cigar from the silver box upon the table and slowly lit it. "But," he went on, "I do really think you are going too far in expecting that you can conceal the truth from the girl much longer. She isn't a child, you must recollect."