"We never use that word; but call it so if you will. In three nights from now there is called a meeting of the Brotherhood in the cellar of this house. You will be brought down to take the oath." "And if I refuse?" "Then we--remove you," said Madame, in silky tones. "Take the oath and you go free, for you can break it only at the imminent risk of your life. A hundred eyes will be always on you, a hundred feet will dog your steps. One rash word, one hint to the police about our affairs, and you die." "You dare not kill me." Madame laughed. "Put that to the test if you will by refusing the oath," said she, indifferently. "For myself, I think you better dead. It is the doctor's wish that you have this chance." "I suppose you know the risk you run? My friends will search diligently for me." "No doubt. But they will not come here. No one saw you enter this house. If your friends are clever enough to trace you to this place they will find nothing. We have chemists who can convert your dead body into nothing more tangible than gas. You will vanish into thin air. We have arranged all that." "You are a fiend." "I am Madame Death-in-Life. You know why I am called so? No? Because those in authority live on my sufferance. I have but to lift a finger and they die. Monsieur Rouge, whom you have seen, is something more than a chemist. He invents explosives. He designs bombs." Mallow thought of the explosion in Paris, when the wife and child of Emile Durand were killed by the lifting of Madame's finger, and he drew comfort from the recollection. A man with such wrongs would surely rescue him, even at the eleventh hour. The thought gave him courage to listen to the woman. "Well, whether you kill me or not the fifty thousand pounds are gone," said he, rather spitefully. "All your schemes have come to nothing." "All our schemes are not ended," said Mrs. Arne, rising. "I see your friend Lord Aldean has not yet got back the money." "How do you know that?" "I know that he is in Florence trying to force my nephew into giving back the money which is ours." "Your nephew! The false Carson!" "Yes. Carlo Boldini is his real name. He is a fool if he thinks to escape with that money from me. But that reptile, his wife, is to blame for all that." "How dare you use such language towards Mrs. Carson?" cried Mallow, indignantly. "I am speaking of Clara Trall, my nephew's real wife. Miss Bellairs is not that." "What--what do you----" "I should advise you to take the oath, Mr. Mallow, and you may yet live to marry Miss Bellairs. Otherwise----" She shrugged, and opened the door. Mallow tried to detain her, but she drew her dress gently from his grasp, and with a sudden dart was outside. Before he could fling himself after her the door was slammed to and locked. The last communication of Madame was skilfully made. It left Mallow in a storm of mingled joy and grief.