Frank Amberley tore open the envelope of the telegram. “Great heavens!” he ejaculated, when he had read the few terrible lines of the despatch. They ran thus: “On my return last night, I found Leonardo Gilardoni lying dead in my rooms. I fear he has met with foul play. On my way, I believe I saw Madam G. walking at a rapid pace toward the station. I pursued; but when I reached the station, I found the last train had just started for London. I cannot help associating the fact of her presence here with the death of my poor servant. Pray Heaven I may be in error in thinking so! Inquest this afternoon.” Agitated by the events of the morning, Frank Amberley was inexpressibly shocked by this fatal intelligence. Dropping the paper from his trembling fingers, he sank into a chair, as if unable to speak. Mr. Willis Joyner hastily poured out some wine, which he offered to Frank, and stood by with the tender sympathy of some gentle-hearted woman. Every one in the place loved Frank Amberley, and none probably more than the gay, superficially selfish Willis Joyner. He saw that some very unusual circumstances had upset the general tranquillity of the young man; and, though he could not form the most distant guess as to the nature of the events which had occurred, he felt grieved. In a few minutes, Frank Amberley recovered his self-possession, and then he gave Mr. Willis Joyner a brief, rapid outline of the strange story, translating the register, and showing him the telegram. The register was transferred to the iron safe in Frank Amberley’s room, and he at once wrote a full account of the finding of the prize, which he sent off to Paul Desfrayne by telegraph. He did not allude to Paul’s mention of encountering Lucia Guiscardini on the road to the station, for he felt it would not be safe to do so, but briefly said how shocked he had been by the intelligence that poor Gilardoni was dead. Lucia Guiscardini made no sign. She had played a desperate game, and the numbers had turned up against her. Like most women who, innocent or guilty, find themselves in difficulties, her chief idea was to seek safety in flight. She dared not face Paul Desfrayne, for she could expect no mercy at his hands. Bitterly did she curse the folly, the cowardice, that had hindered her from destroying the evidence of her marriage with Gilardoni. Deeply now did she deplore having run the terrible risk of killing her real husband. On the departure of Frank Amberley, she had sullenly cleared the room of her attendants, and then sat down to think--or to try if it were possible to collect her scattered wits. Disgrace, death, were before her. But which way to turn?--whither fly? The idea of destroying herself occurred to her disordered brain, but then she thought _that_ resource would do when all else failed. Money she had in plenty. Why should she give up this fair and alluring earth, if safety could be purchased?