"You."
The woman laughed and said:
"But I thought you were a man of courage. Go on; I will go with you."
Oscar delayed a moment, making some remark, until he heard a signal—a very tiny signal, but it was big and loud in its suggestions to him. He stepped into the passage and a moment later a second door opened. The secret room was disclosed and at least a dozen masked men who had been seated at a long table arose. At the instant, as our hero recoiled, the cold muzzles of two revolvers were placed on either cheek and a voice said:
"Go ahead; you can't back out now."
It was a supreme moment of peril. Our hero had friends at hand, but alas! ere his friends could announce themselves the deed of horror might have been perpetrated. It was indeed a critical moment, but Oscar was cool. He stepped forward and was pushed toward a seat, and the men gathered at the table. All sat down also.
There followed a moment's silence. Oscar looked around. Near him stood the siren who had allured him into the den, and her whole expression of countenance had changed. She looked like a beautiful fiend as her eyes gleamed with delight and the red glow of triumph flushed her features. She was proud. She had promised to deliver the detective into the hands of his intending assassins, and she had made good her word.
"So you have betrayed me," said Oscar.
"Yes," answered the woman, "I have betrayed you."
"The story about your brother was a lie."