In the pretty public garden we were strolling together in the sundown, chatting upon the European unrest after the war, the new loan, and other matters, when, of a sudden, a black-mustached man in a dark grey overcoat and a round fur cap sprang from the bushes at a lonely spot, and, raising a big service revolver, fired point-blank at His Excellency. I felt for my own weapon. Alas! it was not there! _I had forgotten it!_ The assassin, seeing the Minister reel and fall, turned his weapon upon me. Thereupon in an instant I threw up my hands, crying that I was unarmed, and an Englishman. As I did so, he started back as though terrified, and with a spring he disappeared again into the bushes. All had happened in a few brief instants, for ere I could realize that a tragedy had actually occurred, I found the unfortunate Minister lying lifeless at my feet. My friend had been shot through the heart! It was a repetition of the assassination of the Minister Stambuloff. Readers of the newspapers will recollect the tragic affair which is, no doubt, still fresh in their minds. I told the Chief of Police of Sofia of my strange experience, and showed him the mark upon my palm. Though detectives searched high and low for the Greek, for Madame Sovoff, and for the fascinating mademoiselle, none of them was ever found. The assassin was, nevertheless, arrested a week later, while trying to cross the frontier into Serbia. I, of course, lost by an ace Rayne's great financial _coup_, but before execution the prisoner made a confession which revealed the existence of a terrible and widespread conspiracy, fostered by Turkey, to remove certain members of the Cabinet who were in favor of British protection and assistance. Quite unconsciously I had, it seemed, become an especial favorite of the silent, watchful old Konstantinos Vassos. Fearing lest I, in my innocence, should fall a victim with His Excellency--being so often his companion--he had, with the assistance of the pretty Marie Balesco, contrived to impress upon my palm the secret sign of the conspirators. To this fact I certainly owe my life, for the assassin--a stranger to Sofia, who had been drawn by lot--would, no doubt, have shot me dead, had he not seen the secret sign upon my raised hand. When I returned to Overstow and related my strange adventure, Rayne was furious that just at the very moment when the deal by which he was to reap such a huge profit was complete, our friend the Minister should have been assassinated. Lola was in the room when I described all that had occurred, listening breathlessly to my narrative. I showed them both the strange mark upon my palm, a brand which I suppose I shall bear to my dying day. "Then you really owe your life to that girl Balesco, Mr. Hargreave?" she said, raising her fine dark eyes to mine. "I certainly do," I replied. Her father grunted, and after congratulating me upon my escape, said: