"You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. . ’ ‘Oui, mais—safe. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. She held out both her hands. ’ The lady frowned suspiciously. " "If this is the extent of it, Sir," returned the knight, ironically, "you may spare yourself further trouble. ” Chapter XXV THE STEEL EDGE OF THE TRUTH The manservant, with his plain black clothes and black tie, had entered the room with a deferential little gesture. .
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