"Ah, that's got you! Little Jack o' Judgment!" mocked the colonel. "That's got you where it hurts you most, hasn't it? Your only son, too! And he went to the devil all the faster because of me--me--me!" He struck his breast with his clenched fist. "You can't bring him back to life, can you? That's one I've got against you." "No," said Jack o' Judgment in a low voice. "I cannot bring him back to life, but I can destroy the man who destroyed him, who blighted his young life, who taught him vicious practices, who sapped his vitality with drugs----" "That's a lie!" said the colonel. "Crewe picked him up at Monte Carlo, when he was on his beam-ends." "Who sent him to Monte Carlo?" asked the other. "Who was the gambler who brought him down, and received the wreck he had made with the pretence that he had never met him before? It was you, Boundary?" The colonel nodded. "I was a fool to deny it. I pretended to Crewe that I hadn't met him before. Yes, it was I, and I glory in it. You think you're going to pinch me, now, and put me where I belong--on the scaffold maybe. But you can never wipe that memory out of your mind, that you had a son who died in the gutter, that you're a childless old man who has no son to follow you!" "I can't wipe that out!" said Jack o' Judgment. "O, God! I can't wipe that out!" He raised his hand to his masked face as though to hide the picture which Boundary conjured up. "But I can wipe you out," he said fiercely, "and I've given my life, my career, my reputation, all that I hold dear to get you! I've smashed your schemes, I've ruined you, even if I've ruined myself. They're waiting for you downstairs, Boundary. I told them to be here at this very minute. Stafford King----" "You'll never see me taken," said Boundary. Two shots rang out together, and the colonel sprawled back over the bed--dead. Propped against the wall was Jack o' Judgment, and the hand that gripped his breast dripped red. They heard the shots outside and Stafford King was the first to enter the room. One glance at the colonel was sufficient, and then he turned to the figure who had slipped to the floor and was sitting with his back propped against the wall. "Good God!" said Stafford. "Jack o' Judgment!" "Poor old Jack!" said the mocking voice. Stafford's arm was about his shoulder, and he laid the head gently back upon his bent knee. He lifted the mask gently and the light of the oil lamp which swung from the ceiling fell upon the white face. "Sir Stanley Belcom! Sir Stanley!" he softly whispered. Sir Stanley turned his head and opened his eyes. The old look of good-humour shone. "Poor old Jack o' Judgment!" he mimicked. "This is going to be a first-class scandal, Stafford. For the sake of the service you ought to hush it up." "But nobody need know, sir," said Stafford. "You can explain to the Home Secretary----" Sir Stanley shook his head.