It was about half past two in the morning when I emerged from the

house. The air was exhilaratingly cold, and the storm was nearly past.

The clouds which had hovered over the city all the preceding day and

night were still in evidence, however, so that the streets between the

widely separated lamps were dark and lonely. The distance I had to go

was something more than a mile, and I had traversed more than half of

it and was in the act of turning a corner when directly beside me, and

quite near, I saw a flash, was conscious of a loud report, and felt

that I had received a sharp and telling blow on my head.

When I was again conscious of my surroundings I was in my own rooms,

while beside the couch upon which I had been placed were my valet, a

physician, and my faithful coadjutor, Tom Coyle.

"Hello, Tom; what's up?" I asked, feebly.

"Faith, you'd have been up higher than you care to go just yet, Dannie,

if I hadn't been drivin' wan av me own cabs this night, owin' to the

sudden death av wan av me min," he replied. "The doctor says the bullet

didn't hurt ye much, but ye'd have been froze stiff if I hadn't found

ye whin I did."

"Tell me about it," I commanded.

"Divil a bit there is to tell, more than I've already said. I was goin'

to the princess' afther me fare, whin I heard a shot. I wint where I

heard the sound and found you. That's all I know."

"Where did the bullet strike me?"

"Foreninst yer head, Dannie. Ye'll have a bald spot there, I'm

thinkin'. But it only broke the skin an' hit ye a welt that made ye see

stars this cloudy night. Now I'm goin'. Maybe I'll have a report for

you whin I come back. There's snow enough. The blackguard ought to have

left some tracks."

There is a spot on the back of the head where a very light blow will

bring about insensibility, and it was exactly on that spot that the

bullet had struck me, taking off a little hair and skin, but otherwise

doing no damage; but I could not help connecting the attempt on my life

with the experiences of the night; in other words, with the woman whose

guest I had been and whose secrets I had overheard. I had cherished a

feeling of the utmost charity for her until that moment, but the

"accident" changed all that, for I had not a doubt in my mind that it

was by her order that somebody had made the attempt to assassinate me.

After a few hours' sleep I felt as well as ever, and before the time to

make my call upon the princess I paid a visit to Jean Morét. I had

neglected to say that the only letter he had sent away since his

imprisonment was one to his mother, from whom he had received a reply

addressed through one of my agents, and in explanation of his

reluctance to send more, he had said: "It is better that the world

should think me dead." Concerning the woman for whose sake he became a

nihilist, he never spoke. But the experiences I had passed through at

the home of the princess, the preceding night, made me wise concerning

the identity of the woman who had influenced him. Indeed I had had it

from her own lips that she had played with this man, even as she had

hoodwinked the prince. What the relations between her and Morét might

have been, in what manner they had been brought together in the past,

and by what transformation of individuality he had dared to raise his

eyes to a princess, I could not even conjecture. There was no doubt,

however, that she had used him for one of the marionettes in her puppet

show; and now he, poor devil, because of it, was safer in a prison

cell, and no doubt happier, too, than he would have been at liberty.




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