She got unsteadily to her feet, tottered to a writing-desk and buried her face in her hands. “Does Solly⁠—does my husband⁠—have you told him?” she asked.

“He knows nothing⁠—yet.”

Labar felt some urge of sympathy for her. She was a broken creature. But his resolve to extract from her the uttermost that might help clear his path did not weaken. He felt that he had got her entirely under his sway, ready to answer tamely any questions with which he might ply her. He had cause to realise that no man could safely diagnose the reactions of Mrs. Gertstein a second later.

Like a tiger-cat she sprang at him, and there was the glitter of steel in her hand. On the desk upon which she had feigned to give way there had lain an ornamental dagger kept as a paperknife. This was the weapon with which she now thrust fiercely and silently at him. He was taken almost entirely off his guard, and had but half-risen to meet the assault, when he felt the bite of the steel in his side.