She was silent. This man, whom she had loved as her own life, was a murderer. A gulf had opened between them, his arrest and denunciation were imminent. They could no longer be lovers. All was of the past. Her tender woman's sympathy for him in his hopeless despair was too deep for tears. Her countenance, usually so sweet and smiling, had grown hard, and her eyes large and serious. The caprice of her broken heart was that this last drive to his chambers should be taken in his company. Many and many a time he had driven with her hither and thither in London, but this was the last occasion. After that, then she would be alone, friendless, unloved--the queen of the silent kingdom, as she had so often termed the stately mansion, one of the finest in London, where the servants moved in silence and the huge marble hall and corridors echoed to the slightest whisper. They drove together past Apsley House and along Piccadilly without exchanging a single word. Once or twice Dudley raised his hat mechanically to passers-by who, now that the yellow sunlight had struggled through the clouds, were enjoying a stroll in London's gayest thoroughfare. Whenever there is any sunshine in the metropolis, it is always in Piccadilly. But the unwonted brightness of that morning jarred upon Dudley and Claudia. Few who passed the pair driving in that handsome carriage would ever have dreamed that the light of that beautiful woman's heart was extinguished, and that the well-groomed man at her side was going deliberately to his doom. Beneath the bear-skin rug their hands met--and clasped. Their hearts beat quickly, their eyes met, but no word passed between them. Both understood that all words were empty in face of the horrible truth. Archibald Cator, who had been sitting beside the fire in Chisholm's sitting-room, rose and bowed when they entered. He recognised Claudia at once, and darted a look of inquiry at the accused man. "Captain Cator, I believe?" she exclaimed, addressing him. "To apologise is quite unnecessary. I know everything. Mr. Chisholm has told me the whole terrible story. You have but done your duty in the service of your country, and as far as I am concerned your just behaviour will receive a just verdict." The tall, thin-faced man was expressing his regrets, when Claudia, turning to him again, asked: "In this affair there is still an element of mystery which should be at once cleared up. Through my own unpardonable folly in accepting as friend a woman whom I did not know, Mr. Chisholm has fallen the victim of a curious conspiracy. Do you chance to know in Italy a man named Marucci?" "Marucci?" repeated the captain; "Francesco Marruci, I presume you mean? Yes, I know him and have employed him in Rome, and elsewhere, to make confidential inquiries." "And do you chance to be acquainted with a woman named Mortimer--a young woman, Muriel Mortimer?"