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May I inquire the name of that person?" "You know very well, Lord Saxondale," said Ugo, now taking the lead. He stood boldly, defiantly before the Englishman. "Carmenita Malban is dead, your excellency," said Bob, coolly. "I do not know what you are talking about, sir," grated the prince. "Dorothy Garrison is here, held against her will, and I, her affianced husband, command you to surrender her."

On the night of the murder it was after the opera he was heard to threaten her. She defied him, and one of the women in the company testified that he sought to intimidate Malban by placing the point of his stiletto against her white neck. But, in spite of all this, he was acquitted. I was in New York when the trial ended, but I read of the verdict in the press dispatches.

How could she know that Giovanni Pavesi, the tenor, and Prince Ravorelli were one and the same to Philip Quentin? How could she know that the beautiful Malban was slain in Rio Janeiro, and that Philip Quentin had seen a handsome, dark-eyed youth led to and from the murderer's dock in that far-away Brazilian city?

It was his money that backed the enterprise, and it was common property, undenied by him or anyone else, that the chief object in the speculation was the love of the prima donna, Carmenita Malban. And, Bob, she was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. The story was that she was a countess or something of the sort.