"Because, Mr. Biddulph--because, alas! I know these men only too well. You have triumphed; but yours is, I fear, but a short-lived victory. They still intend that you shall die!" "How do you know that?" I asked quickly. "Listen," she said hoarsely. "I will tell you." CHAPTER THIRTEEN THE DEATH KISS Sylvia sank into a chair, while I stood upon the hearth-rug facing her, eager to hear her explanation. Her hands were clasped as she raised her wonderful blue eyes to mine. Yes, her beauty was perfect--more perfect than any I had ever seen in all my wandering, erratic life. "Why do those men still intend that I shall die?" I asked. "Now that I know the truth I shall remain wary." "Ah, yes," she responded. "But they will take you unawares. You do not know the devilish cunning and ingenuity of such men as they, who live upon their wits, and are utterly unscrupulous." "Well, what do they now intend?" I asked, much interested, for it seemed that she knew very much more than she would admit. "You have escaped," she said, looking straight into my face. "They naturally fear that you will tell the police." "I shall not do that--not at present, at least," I replied. "I am keeping my own counsel." "Yes. But cannot you see that while you live you are a menace to their dastardly plans? They dare not return to that deserted house in Bayswater." "Where are they now?" "Abroad, I believe. They always take care to have an outlet for escape," she answered. "Ah! you don't know what a formidable combination they are. They snap their fingers at the police of Europe." "What? Then you really admit that there have been other victims?" I exclaimed. "I have no actual knowledge," she declared, "only suspicions." "Why are you friendly with them?" I asked. "What does your father say to such acquaintances?" "I am friendly only under compulsion," she answered. "Ah! Mr. Biddulph, you cannot know how I hate the very sight or knowledge of those inhuman fiends. Their treatment of you is, in itself, sufficient proof of their pitiless plans." "Tell me this, Sylvia," I said, after a second's pause. "Have you any knowledge of a man--a great friend of mine--named Jack Marlowe?" Her face changed. It became paler, and I saw she was slightly confused. "I--well, I believe we met once," she said. "His father lives somewhere down in Devonshire." "Yes," I said quickly. "What do you know of him?" "Nothing. We met only once." "Where?" "Well--our meeting was under rather curious circumstances. He is your friend, therefore please pardon me if I do not reply to your question," was her vague response. "Then what do you anticipate from those men, Reckitt and Forbes?" I asked. "Only evil--distinct evil," she replied. "They will return, and strike when you least expect attack." "But if I do not go to the police, why should they fear me? They are quite welcome to the money they have stolen--so long as they allow me peace in the future."