He sent Unity for a screw-driver, and during her short absence looked through the papers in the baskets on the table; but they gave no clue. Unity returned, and locked the door again behind her. Once more they wrenched and jerked the drawer, and this time it gave sufficiently for the edge of the screw-driver to be inserted. And at last the woodwork broke away from the lock and the drawer flew open, and there lay the bright revolver on the sealed envelope just as Unity had described. Herold sank into the writing-chair, and Unity steadied herself, her hands behind her, against the table. They regarded each other for a while, pale, panting, breathless. “Thank God!” he whispered. “Yes, thank God!” So they remained, recovering from their almost intolerable relief. John Risca had not killed himself. It was a conclusion logical enough. The probability was that he was alive. But where? What had become of him? With what frenzied intention had he fled from the house? Presently Unity drew up her squat little figure and closed the mutilated drawer. “Can she have anything to do with it?” she asked, looking at him steadily. “She?” “Yes.” There was no need of explanation. “She” was the incarnation in woman of all evil. He rose from the chair, putting his hand to his forehead. He had not thought of her in connection with John's disappearance; judged in the light of the morning's revelation, the connection was more than possible. Of no ingenuity of fiendishness was the woman incapable. “What made you think of her?” “How can I help thinking of her?” said Unity. “It is the she-devil,” he cried excitedly. “She has been at work already. My God! I have it!” He smote his palm with the fist of the other hand. “She has told him.” “What?” “She went down to Southcliff and saw Stellamaris. She poisoned her ears with hideous things. She was going to throw her over the cliff.” Unity, a queer light behind her patient eyes, crept up close to him, and an ugly look accentuated the coarseness of her features. “She dared? She dared to speak to my precious one? What did she say? Tell me.” “She told her she was John's deserted wife, and that you--” he hesitated for a moment, and saw that he was not dealing with a young girl, but with a tragic woman--“and that you were his mistress.” Unity closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed the horror. Then she looked at him again. “And what else?” “She gave to her innocent soul to understand what a mistress was. She taunted her and jeered at her. She had her at her mercy.” “When did you learn this?” “This morning, from Stellamaris herself. I told her the whole truth from beginning to end, but, God help her! her soul is so poisoned that she does n't know whether to believe the woman or me.” “If he knew that--if he knew that,” said Unity, slowly, “he would murder her.”