"Let us hope that he will not come to life again, then," he remarked lightly.
"What do you mean?" cried the dancer sharply.
The Count looked slightly surprised.
"I only meant that a resurrection would be awkward for you," he explained. "A foolish joke."
She gave a sigh of relief.
"Oh, no, he is dead all right. Killed in the war. He was a man who once—loved me."
"In South Africa?" asked the Count negligently.
"Yes, since you ask it, in South Africa."
"That is your native country, is it not?"
She nodded. Her visitor rose and reached for his hat.
"Well," he remarked, "you know your own business best, but if I were you, I should fear the 'Colonel' far more than any disillusioned lover. He is a man whom it is particularly easy to—underestimate."
She laughed scornfully.
"As if I did not know him after all these years!"
"I wonder if you do?" he said softly. "I very much wonder if you do."
"Oh, I am not a fool! And I am not alone in this. The South African mail-boat docks at Southampton tomorrow, and on board her is a man who has come specially from Africa at my request and who has carried out certain orders of mine. The 'Colonel' will have not one of us to deal with, but two."
"Is that wise?"
"It is necessary."
"You are sure of this man?"
A rather peculiar smile played over the dancer's face.
"I am quite sure of him. He is inefficient, but perfectly trustworthy." She paused, then added in an indifferent tone of voice: "As a matter of fact, he happens to be my husband."
