"A pleasant greeting from the woman I made my wife."
"Would that fate had never thrown us together; that I had never heard your name!"
"No one can wish it more sincerely than myself," replied Gascoigne. "It was you who wrecked and ruined my life."
"And what have you done to me, Rupert Gascoigne? Could you not leave me in peace? Why follow me to persecute me, to rob me and my son—"
"Of the proceeds of your infamy?" interrupted Gascoigne, or Hyde, as I prefer to call him; "I will tell you. Because you dared to plot against a man I esteem. Whatever has happened to Stanislas McKay, he owes it, I feel confident, to you. I may never see him again—"
"You never will, and for a double reason. Do not hope, Rupert Gascoigne, to leave this place again."
And she looked capable of taking his life then and there.
"Come, come! Cyprienne; you are going too far. Mr. Gascoigne has not behaved very well, perhaps, but it is not for us to call him to account. We will leave him to the myrmidons of the law. He is wanted, we know, by the police."
"Am I?" said Hyde, mockingly; "so are others, as you will find. At this moment the house is surrounded. The authorities have long had their eye on Hippolyte Ledantec, alias Hobson, the Russian spy."
The confederates looked at each other uneasily, and Ledantec said—