"What’s happened?" asked his wife, for the paleness of his countenance betrayed that something was amiss. "Oh! nothing—nothing serious, I mean!" was his reply. "Get me a liqueur brandy," he stammered. Ena went at once to the dining-room and brought a little glass of old cognac, which he swallowed at a gulp, and then sat for a few moments staring straight before him. "Tell us, Bernie. What’s happened? Where have you been?" demanded his wife. "Been! I—well, I’ve been right into the camp of the enemy!" he said hoarsely. "Enemy! What enemy?" "Céline is here. Wants to see you. The fellow Galtier is with her. They are on the track of old Martin, and want to see you!" The two women exchanged glances, for the light in the faces of both had died out. "Céline here!" gasped Ena. "How much does she know?" "How can we tell? I’ve simply defied her." "But why didn’t you offer to pay? They, of course, want money." Rapidly he described to the two excited women what had occurred. Then at last Lilla said: "Well, the only thing we can do is to sit tight. We must—if we are to get the money paid on dear Augusta’s policy." "Of course, we can’t slip out, or it would be an admission, if Céline really goes to the police." "There is nothing to prevent her," remarked Ena. "The girl is dangerous." "So is that girl Ramsay. I’ve always said so," Lilla declared. "Her lover is out of the way, and the sooner she herself is silenced the better, for as long as that pair are alive they will always be a menace to us." "I quite agree," said the red-haired widow. "You said that many weeks ago." "Well, it is all in Bernie’s hands. It’s no use getting the insurance company to pay without taking due precautions to protect ourselves, is it?" asked Boyne’s wife. The death-dealers thereupon took counsel together. For an hour they sat discussing plans, each putting their idea forward. In the whole of criminal London no three persons were so callous, so ingenious, or so regardless of human life. They had discovered a means of making money with little exertion and with certain results. Boyne, expert as he was in insurance and of a scientific turn of mind, could deal death whenever and wherever he desired, and in such a manner that no coroner’s jury could pronounce a verdict other than that death had supervened as a natural cause. Not before three o’clock in the morning did Lilla and her husband leave Upper Brook Street, and when they did an elaborate and ingenious plan had been decided upon which left no loophole for discovery. Mrs. Augusta Morrison of Carsphairn had died, and Ena would, of course, excuse herself from going to the funeral. She had mourning which, as a matter of fact, she had worn on more than one occasion when a wealthy friend of hers had died. But in this case she dared not put in an appearance. At home in Pont Street, Boyne sat with his wife and discussed the situation at considerable length.