Was it, I wondered, intended for her? The waiter brought what she ordered, a “bock,” that favorite beverage with both Parisians and Parisiennes, and as I watched her narrowly I saw something which convinced me that the cipher was intended for her eye. She dipped her finger in the beer and drew it across the writing. Was she young or old, I wondered? She was settling her cape and chiffons preparatory to rising and re-entering her carriage, therefore I rose and crossed the road. As I stepped upon the asphalte on the opposite side, she crossed to where her smart turn-out stood, brushing past me as she did so. The light as it fell across her face revealed a countenance with which I was, alas! too familiar. She was the woman who had usurped my place in Ernest’s heart--the woman whom I had seen in his company at Monte Carlo--the woman who had laughed at me in triumph across the roulette table, because she knew that she held him beneath the spell of her extraordinary beauty. CHAPTER XVIII GIVES THE KEY OF THE CIPHER I walked along the boulevard towards the Opera as one in a dream. To that woman with the tow-colored hair, the blue eyes, and pink cheeks--the woman who had replaced me in his affections--he had written that strange message in cipher--a message of warning, it might be. I hated her. I really believe that if ever the spirit of murder has entered my heart it was at that moment. I could have sprung upon her and killed her as she stepped into her carriage. She had said no word to her coachman. He apparently knew where to drive. That cipher was, perhaps, an appointment which he had gone forward to keep, while she was now following. The thought convulsed me with anger. This man, Ernest Cameron, the man who had once held me in his arms and declared that he loved me, was, upon his own admission, an assassin. Along the Rue Auber I wandered back to the hotel plunged in my own distracting thoughts. I had somehow ceased to think of the old millionaire and the chattering woman whom he had concealed on board the Vispera. All my thoughts were of the man who had until then held me as his helpless slave. It may have been jealousy, or it may possibly have been the revulsion of feeling that had seized me on becoming aware of the terrible truth of his guilt, that caused me to vow to leave no stone unturned to secure his arrest and condemnation. She, that small, slim woman with the fair hair, had stolen him from me, but I determined that she should not be allowed to enjoy his society longer. I had discovered the truth, and the blow that I intended to deal would be fatal to the happiness of both of them.