"What do you mean, you"
His hands gripped the chair back. Noel went on in that casual, calm way of his.
"Look here, Petrovitch, I'm not going to make a row if I can help it. I hate the whole business. You leave Connie alone, and you'll never hear of this again. Only—I know what I know, and if you force me to do it, I'll be obliged to produce all the necessary proofs, and you'll be—dished. It's an ugly affair, and it would mean I don't know how many years for you. Candidly now, is it worth it?"
Petrovitch went a queer color and sat down suddenly. He had evidently changed his mind about throwing anything. Noel felt drunk with the wine of complete and unexpected success. He wondered what he would have done in Petrovitch's place, and decided that he would have brazened it out to the very end. Not so Petrovitch, evidently. His rage had gone as quickly as it had come. But what Noel saw in his face was not fear. No, it was certainly not fear. What was it?
Petrovitch stared at him for some moments, and then said quite simply:
"She is alive, then?"
"Great snakes!" Noel said to himself. "Per-
