“We’re a pair, you and I! This business won’t last forever; but there are plenty of other things in which wits and beauty count. When we’re married, we’ll be a match for the world--my Zenia!” “Let’s not speak of that now,” she said nervously. She gave an apprehensive look at the curtains. He caught the look. “What’s the matter?” “Nothing,” she said, “nothing.” He glanced about at the curtains, then turned back. “Yes, we’ll be a match for the world,” he went on. “Ah, but you are a clever one, my dear! Only once have you ever failed. And I don’t understand yet how the other night out at Berloff’s you let Drexel get away from you. But with us both upon the case--” She went suddenly white. “Let’s speak of other things,” she broke in. He caught a second nervous glance at the portières. “Is there something wrong with those curtains?” he said, and he quickly rose and made for them, his hand instinctively reaching for his pistol. “Don’t! Don’t!” she cried, and she sprang forward to catch his arm. But already he had parted the curtains. He saw no one and passed on into the hall, and the curtains closed behind him. Pallid, breathless, the countess awaited the sudden uproar of the struggle. But after a minute Freeman reappeared. “There was no one?” she asked. “No one. But what made you try to stop me from going in?” “Just nerves,” she said. They sat down and Freeman had begun to run on about the fortune that was almost theirs, when there was a ring. The countess opened the door. Into the room walked Drexel. A baleful exultation leaped into Freeman’s dark face. But his impulse to shoot Drexel was instantly checked by the realization that the shot would bring the merry-makers overhead trooping down as witnesses to his deed. “Why, hello!” he cried holding out his hand. “How did you escape? I’m mighty glad to see you!” “And I to see you,” said Drexel quietly. He avoided the outstretched hand by turning to the countess. “I came to tell you of our disaster. But Mr. Freeman must have told you.” “Yes,” she said. She was very white, and looked with sickening dread from man to man. “Then I will not stay. The police are after me, and I must get into hiding.” “Wait, I’ll go with you,” Freeman eagerly put in. “I was just leaving, and I want to talk over some plans for retrieving our loss.” Drexel had counted on just this offer when he had decided it would be safest not to try to take his vengeance here. But he did not show his satisfaction. “Very well. Come on.” Freeman slipped on his overcoat, and as he did so he swiftly transferred his pistol to the overcoat’s outer pocket. “I’m ready. Good-night, countess.” She knew that Freeman was armed, that Drexel had but his bare hands. “Don’t go yet, Mr. Drexel,” she said, trying to speak calmly. “Thank you. But I must,” he returned. She laid a hand upon his arm. It seemed a casual touch, but the fingers gripped him tensely, warningly, with wild appeal.