"You liar!" he cried, his face white with evil passion. "Do you dare to tell me that? Do you think I'm a fool to believe such a story? Stolen! Of course they're not stolen. You've hidden them. Yes," he added, "you've been devilish clever to get that letter out of me, and burn it before my eyes--haven't you--eh? But you shall pay for it!" he cried, between his teeth, as his strong hands compressed her throat until she went scarlet and her wild, glaring eyes started from her head.
She tried to cry out--tried to shriek and raise an alarm, for she knew her life was in danger. But she could utter no sound beyond a low gurgle.
"You refuse to give me the pearls--eh?" he said, his dark brows knit, and murder in his piercing eyes. "You think to trick me--your husband! By gad! You shall pay for this! Tell me where they are. This is your last moment. You shall die--die--curse you!" And his grip tightened upon her thin, white throat--the grip of a murderer.
Jean, unable to move, unable to cry out, felt herself fainting, when next second she was startled by a sharp pistol shot.
"Ah!" gasped her assailant, releasing his hold instantly and clapping his right hand to his back.
"Ah!" cried the wounded man in wild despair. "I--why, I----"
Then he reeled completely round and fell backward upon the carpet--inert--dead!
At the same instant Jean, staggered by the suddenness of it all, was confronted by a ragged, unkempt, hatless man in a striped jacket some sizes too big for him. Around his neck was a dirty scarf in lieu of a collar, and his dark hair was curly and ruffled.
She saw the man emerge from the curtain, and started back in increased alarm.
"Madame!" cried the newcomer, "it is me! Don't you know me?"
"Yes, madame. I came here, not knowing that this was your _château_," he explained, in a low whisper. "I found the window open just before that man arrived. I came in and took your pearls. Here they are!"
And he drew them from the pocket of his shabby jacket and handed them back to her.
"Where--where did you come from? You have saved my life," she faltered in blank amazement.
"I came out of prison nine months ago," was his reply. "They brought me to Paris, but I could find no work, so I tramped to Havre, hoping to get a job at the docks, or to work my passage to New York. But all to no avail, so I--I had, alas! to return to my old profession. And the first house I enter I find, to my dismay, is yours!"