Holding an electric torch in one hand, a case of the baroness's jewels in the other, and kneeling before the open door of the safe, he saw the outline of the figure of a woman. Raife's involuntary gasp was sufficient, for the woman, who had displayed wonderful craftsmanship in achieving her purpose, switched off the lamp. It was too late. With a bound Raife had seized her by the throat and dragged her to the wall, switching on a powerful electrolier. His horror and consternation reached the highest human point when he recognised Gilda Tempest, the woman he loved--the woman of mystery--the woman he had trusted! She had asked him to trust her--to be her friend. He had responded with the whole of his heart and enthusiasm, and this-- this hideous nightmare was his reward. Raife slung her from him with force, and hissed: "You hideous fiend! Is this womanhood--the womanhood that I--I had loved?" Gilda fell in front of the open door of the dismantled safe. For a full minute her sobs filled the old library, till they became a moan, a prolonged wail. Raife placed the revolver in the pocket of his pyjamas and crossed the room with bowed head and heaving chest. His face was contorted with rage, and his hands and fingers worked convulsively. He re-crossed the room and gazed at her with a look of intense hatred. Slowly she rose to her knees and crawled towards him with clasped hands. Then, clutching at his knees with upturned face, a still beautiful face, she ceased her sobbing. In low, mellifluous tones she pleaded: "Raife, Raife! I have wronged you. I have wronged you grossly, grievously. But listen to me, spare me! I, too, have been wronged. I have not been a willing agent. I have been forced, yes compelled, to do these foul, hateful things." Raife looked down on her with a contemptuous glance. "You have acted well before. You are acting well now. Before I give you in charge of the police you can tell me, if you will, why you borrowed my keys at the Hotel Royal, at Nice?" "No! No! Raife, Sir Raife! Believe me, I am not naturally bad. My uncle--at least, he tells me he is my uncle--forces me to do these things. When he looks at me and tells me what to do I am afraid, but I must obey. I simply must, I can't help it. "He made me get your keys and told me the story to tell you. He is clever, so clever." Here Gilda shuddered, and then trembled violently all over. Passionately she raised her voice a trifle, saying: "He is horrid! He is hateful--yes, awful!" Then, relapsing almost into a state of coma, she continued: "I must obey. Yes, I must obey." At this moment there was a violent knock on the door, and Raife almost dragged Gilda to a curtain and hastily thrusting her behind, crossed to the door and said lazily, in a tired key: "Yes, who is there?"