“Your wife!” she laughed, scornfully, and he winced. “Never you mind; you’re too curious, you are. Don’t ask me any questions, and I’ll tell you no lies. Anyhow, you can tell your wife that I mean what I say. Your wife--your wife!--and me is going to be great friends. I shouldn’t be surprised if she asked me to stay with her. That will be fun!” and she threw her head back and laughed with malicious enjoyment of the vision her words called up. “Only fancy, Bella-Bella chumming with a great swell’s daughter! Oh, Lor’!” He stood and looked at her, and a new expression was coming into his eyes, an expression of watchful cunning. “Well,” he said, “funnier things have happened. It’s--it’s a strange world----” “I should think it is after the wedding I’ve seen this morning!” she retorted. “And--I’ve nothing to say against it,” he went on, trying to speak carelessly; “only I should like to have a warning. But I’ll make a bargain with you, Bella. Give up the idea--I don’t see anything in it to your advantage--and I’ll give you----” “How much?” she said, with a sneer. “But don’t trouble yourself, I shan’t want it. I shall be as rich as you, I expect; and if it wasn’t that I love bleeding you, you skinflint, I’d fling these notes back in your face. But I’m going to keep ’em for the present. Perhaps I’ll buy a weddin’ gift for your pretty, young wife, Mr. Bradstone,” and her laugh rang out again. He took out his watch--the silver one; and she, with a smile of derision, pulled out his watch--the gold one. “Gettin’ late, I suppose. You want to be off for the honeymoon. Well, I’ll come with you--just as far as the drive. Perhaps we shall meet the young lady, and you can introduce me, here and now. Ah----” she broke off, for with a snarl he snatched something from his breast-pocket. There was a flash, a sharp twang, a little puff of smoke, and the next instant the magnificent form of Bella-Bella, the Queen of the Air, was lying full length on the mossy ground. She had scarcely uttered a cry louder than the fear-breathing “Ah!” and yet it seemed to the trembling wretch who stood with the smoking revolver in his hand that the wood echoed with fiendish yells. The great trees waved and danced before him, the earth seemed to rock under his feet, and he quaked like one of the rustling leaves, which all had tongues to cry “Murder!” So he stood, and so she lay, breathing short, but speechless, while one could count twenty. Then the assassin’s first instinct, flight, smote upon him, and he turned and fled. But no farther than the edge of the drive. There a horrid remembrance flashed upon him. On that prostrate figure which he had left for dead, were the notes, which could be traced, his watch, his silver cigar case, which a hundred people would recognize as his.