Her ingratitude was beyond his comprehension; it was too ghastly that this--this vile betrayal should be her thanks for everything he had done for her and hers, as also for others of her country-people. Gunzi, the rat-faced, smiled derisively: "You did not threaten her, my friend--you did not, then, send her--this?" From his pocket he pulled out a tiny carved piece of wood, a white knight, all-betraying, all-accusing. "You did not, I suppose, send her this as a threat, because she is a good Communist, because she would not give way to your evil suggestions, eh, my friend?" He turned to Elizabeth: "He is but a craven fellow after all; I begin to wonder if he is indeed the White Knight." Elizabeth laughed scornfully: "Is not his letter, his threat, proof enough? Besides, doubtless he hides in one of his pockets another such proof of his _bourgeois_ proclivities." Gunzi smiled softly: "A good suggestion!" He plunged his hands into Wenzel's pockets. In the first two there was nothing, but when the detective tried another pocket, on the left-hand side, he laughed triumphantly as he pulled out another small piece of carved wood. Line for line it was identical with the one Elizabeth had sent him. Side by side Gunzi placed them on the palm of his hand, and Wenzel drew in his breath with a hiss of fury. Like two peas from a pod, neither differed from its twin by even a fraction of an inch. Mutely they convicted him. They would be proof enough for Korvin-Klein. Yet how had it got there? Just as Wenzel knew that Gunzi's words were lies, lies to weave around him a mesh of evidence from which it would be impossible for him to escape, so was he positive that half an hour ago every one of his pockets had been empty of all but money, a revolver, a handkerchief, and finally a key to his room. Suddenly he realized the truth, and his head bowed with the anguish of his thoughts. Elizabeth's eyes, her expression of triumphant manœuvre, her failure to struggle when he had first grasped her in his arms, the slight fumbling of her hand on his waist, finally his suspicions that she had deliberately encouraged him to do what he had done--now he understood. The whole story was an open book before him. Elizabeth herself had dropped the white knight into his pocket, just as Elizabeth had weaved the plot which was to be his undoing. But Gunzi was speaking to her, and Wenzel listened, his heart sick with sorrow. "Here you are, my girl; here is the reward for capturing the White Knight. Bela Kun told me to give it you." He laughed sourly: "You did well to mention it in your letter to him." So she had written to Bela Kun! His temper, ever hovering near the surface, for the second time that day broke beyond control. With a flash of his wrist he knocked the pistol from the hand of the Red guard who had taken Gunzi's place, and it clattered to the ground.