Mr.

"Benjamin
chill at the sound of these words. They came from the slouching smoker.
"Where am I?" she cried, sitting up, a dizzy whirling in her head Her bed was no
more than a heavy piece of odd carpet. "In the house of your friends," laconically
responded the voice, now quite familiar. Her eyes swept the room in search of
the priest. His robes lay in a heap across her feet. "Where is Father Paul?" she
demanded. "He is no more," said the man, in sombre tones. "I was he until an hour
ago." "And you are no priest? Ah, God help me, what have I done? What have I
come to in my miserable folly?" she cried, covering her face with her hands.
"Look here, Miss Garrison," said the man, quietly. "I am no priest, but you have
nothing to fear because of that fact. The truth is, I am a detective. For a month I
was in the employ of Prince Ravorelli, and it was no honest business, I can tell
you. What I have done to-night is straight and honest. I mean you no harm, and
you have but to follow my instructions in order to find yourself safe in Brussels
once more. I have been interested in a number of queer transactions but let me
say this in my own defense: I was never employed in any game so detestable, so
low, as the one your noble prince was playing when you were snatched away
from him. The only regret I have in taking you back to your mother comes from
the fear that you may go ahead and marry that knave." Dorothy was listening,
with wide eyes and bated breath, to the words of the lounging smoker. "I will
never, never marry him," she creed, vehemently. "Stick to that resolve, my child,"
said Courant, with mock benevolence. "He is a scoundrel, and I cut loose from
him to do this little job down here on my own responsibility." "Tell me, If you know,
did he plan to kill Mr. Quentin? I must have the truth," she cried, eagerly. "He did
worse than that. He made the attempt, or rather his agents did- You see, Quentin
was a dangerous rival because he knew too much." "I don't understand." "Well,
he knew all about the prince when he was with the opera company in Brazil. I
can't tell you much about it, but there was a murder committed over there and
your prince was believed to be guilty. A woman was killed, I behave. Quentin knew
all about it, it seems." "And never told me?" she cried. "He was not positive, I
suppose There was the danger of being mistaken, and this American friend of
yours seems honest. He only told you what he knew to be a fact, I conclude."