"Charming woman," said Entrefort; "you'll like her. We were married
three years ago at Bombay. She belongs to a noble Italian family and
has travelled a great deal."
He introduced us. To my unspeakable relief she remembered neither my
name nor my face. I must have appeared odd to her, but it was
impossible for me to be perfectly unconcerned. We went to Arnold's
rooms, I with much dread. I left her in the reception-room and took
Entrefort within. Arnold was too greatly absorbed in his own troubles
to be dangerously excited by meeting Entrefort, whom he greeted with
indifferent hospitality.
"But I heard a woman's voice," he said. "It sounds----" He checked
himself, and before I could intercept him he had gone to the
reception-room; and there he stood face to face with the beautiful
adventuress,--none other than Entrefort's wife now,--who, wickedly
desperate, had driven a stiletto into Arnold's vitals in a hotel four
years before because he had refused to marry her. They recognized each
other instantly and both grew pale; but she, quicker witted, recovered
her composure at once and advanced towards him with a smile and an
extended hand. He stepped back, his face ghastly with fear.
"Oh!" he gasped, "the excitement, the shock,--it has made the blade
slip out! The blood is pouring from the opening,--it burns,--I am
dying!" and he fell into my arms and instantly expired.
The autopsy revealed the surprising fact that there was no blade in his
thorax at all; it had been gradually consumed by the muriatic acid
which Entrefort had prescribed for that very purpose, and the
perforations in the aorta had closed up gradually with the wasting of
the blade and had been perfectly healed for a long time. All his vital
organs were sound. My poor friend, once so reckless and brave, had died
simply of a childish and groundless fear, and the woman unwittingly had
accomplished her revenge.