He stood swaying on his feet, hand pressed to his brow, through a long moment of realization. No one spoke. Then he dropped his hand, turned to his wife again. “And you?--When----?” he indicated Satterthwaite with a helpless gesture, “when did this happen?” She met his eyes bravely. “I married--Jack--a year ago to-day!” she answered. The effort of her speech was obvious. “But you couldn’t!” he exclaimed. “It’s bigamy!” Satterthwaite went without a word to the escritoire standing in a corner of the room and took out a paper. He came back with it, handed it silently to Tremaine. It was an official War Department notification. Tremaine stared at it. “My God!” he muttered, appalled. “You are dead, my friend!” said Satterthwaite, grimly. “Killed in action, October 10th, 1918.” Again there was a long silence. Tremaine sank heavily into a chair, stared straight in front of him. An expression of combativeness came slowly into his face, his jaw set. At last he uttered an aggressive grunt. “Well, I’m not!” he said. “I’m very much alive. So that’s that! Whatever has happened, I’ve come back! This is my flat--and my wife and child. And you can clear out just as soon as you like!” His eyes flamed hostility as they met Satterthwaite’s. “Quit!” His wife sprang forward. “Harry!” she cried, imploring she scarcely knew what. He turned to her. “I’ll talk to you presently,” he said, in a voice of smouldering resentment. “I’m not blaming you--but I guess you might have waited a bit. We’ll square this out by ourselves when he’s gone.” Satterthwaite smiled, and his smile was by no means acquiescent. “I guess you’ll have to wait for that, Mr. Tremaine,” he said, in even tones that had an edge to them. “I’m not going just yet.” Tremaine glared up at him. “What?” he cried, incredulously. “I’m not going,” repeated Satterthwaite. “You don’t realize the situation, my friend. This woman has been living with me for a year as my wife. I do not propose to make her name a public scandal. Officially, you are dead. Well--remain dead!” Tremaine laughed mockingly. “And leave you my wife, my child--all this!” He waved his hand round the flat. “Thank you!” Satterthwaite shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll buy your property of you at your own valuation. Your will has been proved. The amount of your estate, plus interest, shall be refunded to you. I’ll give you, in addition, any reasonable amount as compensation. You are the victim of circumstances, my friend--but, as a straight man, there’s only one thing for you to do. You can’t ruin this woman’s life!” Both men, following their thought, turned to glance at her. She stood tense, deathly pale, looking from one to the other, evidently in an atrocious dilemma, unable to utter a word. Tremaine swung round again to his rival, sneered scornfully.