"I want you to tell me about the Perigoff woman." "I know only one thing--that Braine is there every night." "No!" "The orders are for you to play the game just as you are playing it. When we strike, it must be the last blow. All this hide-and-seek business may look foolish to you. It's like that Japanese game called 'jo.' It looks simple, but chess is a tyro's game beside it. Can you find your way back all right?" "I can." "Well, you'd better be going. That's all the light I have, in this torch here. Got a lot to do to-morrow and need sleep." Norton stole away with great caution. His first intention was to proceed straight to the city, but despite his resolution he found himself within a quarter of an hour gazing up at the windows of the Hargreave house. "Not at home!" Quite unconscious of the fact, he was as close to death as any mortal man might care to be. The policeman suddenly looming up under the arc lamp proved to be his savior. The lull made Jones doubly alert. He was positive that they were preparing to strike again. But from what direction and in what manner? He had not met the gift of clairvoyance so he had to wait; and waiting is a terrible game when perhaps death is balancing the scales. It is always easier to make an assault than to await it; and it is a good general who always finds himself prepared. But it made his heart ache to watch the child. She went about cheerfully--when any one was in the room with her. Many a time, however, he had stolen to the door of her bedroom and heard the heart-rending sobs, a vain attempt being made to stifle them among the pillows. She was only eighteen; it was first love; and first loves are pale, evanescent attachments. It hurt now; but she would get over it presently. Youth forgets. Time, like water, smooths away the ragged places. The countess called regularly. She was, of course, dreadfully sorry over what had happened. She had heard something about his character; newspaper men weren't always the best. This one was a mere fortune hunter; a two-faced one, at that. She was never more surprised in her life than when he threw his arms around her. And so on, and so forth, half lies and half truths, till the patient Jones felt like wringing her neck. From his vantage point the butler smiled ironically. He could read the heart of the Perigoff woman as he could read the page of a book. The effrontery! And all the while he must gravely admit her and pretend when the blood rioted in his veins at the sight of her. But he dared not swerve a single inch from the plans laid down. It was a cup of bitter gall, and there was no way of avoiding the putting of it to his lips. She emanated poison as nightshade emanates it, the upas tree. And he must bow when she entered and bow when she left! Still, she had done him an indirect favor in breaking up this love business.