Practicing Texas Politics 16th Edition

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Practicing Texas Politics 16th Edition Brown Test Bank

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CHAPTER 2 - Federalism and the Texas Constitution

Multiple Choice

1. The two sources for the powers of the Texas government to govern are the
a. U.S. Bill of Rights and the United Nations Charter.
b. Texas Constitution and Texas’s membership in the federal Union.
c. Texas Constitution and the United Nations Charter.
d. North American Free Trade Agreement and the U.S. Constitution.
ANSWER: b
REFERENCES: 42
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: PTXP.BROW.16.2.1 - LO2.1
NOTES: applied

2. A system of government in which power is divided between a national government and associated regional
governments is a(n)
a. unitary system.
b. confederate system.
c. federal system.
d. autocratic system.
ANSWER: c
REFERENCES: 42
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: PTXP.BROW.16.2.1 - LO2.1
NOTES: conceptual

3. Which of the following is a false statement about the Texas Constitution?

a. It limits actions of the national government.
b. It outlines the structure of Texas’s state government.
c. It authorizes the creation of cities and counties.
d. It establishes basic rules for state governance.
ANSWER: a
REFERENCES: 42-43
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: PTXP.BROW.16.2.1 - LO2.1
NOTES: applied

4. Which most accurately describes the relationship between state constitutions and the U.S. Constitution?
a. State constitutions prevail over the U.S. Constitution.
b. The U.S. constitution can be modified by changes in state constitutions and vice versa.
c. The U.S. constitution prevails over state constitutions.
d. None of these choices are true.
ANSWER: c
REFERENCES: 42-43
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: PTXP.BROW.16.2.1 - LO2.1
NOTES: applied

5. The Tenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution

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Name: Class: Date:

CHAPTER 2 - Federalism and the Texas Constitution

a. denies all powers to the states except for those specifically granted to them.
b. makes no mention of the state governments.
c. grants all undesignated powers to the federal government.
d. reserves to the states those powers not delegated to the federal government.
ANSWER: d
REFERENCES: 42-43
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: PTXP.BROW.16.2.1 - LO2.1
NOTES: conceptual

6. In its capacity as the state’s fundamental law, the Texas Constitution

a. spells out the size and salary of the legislature.
b. creates governmental institutions, assigns them powers, and places limitations on them.
c. determines the property tax rate.
d. provides for revision once in each generation.
ANSWER: b
REFERENCES: 42
53
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: PTXP.BROW.16.2.2 - LO2.2
PTXP.BROW.16.2.4 - LO2.4
NOTES: conceptual

7. The national supremacy clause is found in which article of the U.S. Constitution?
a. Article I
b. Article V
c. Article VI
d. Article X
ANSWER: c
REFERENCES: 43
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: PTXP.BROW.16.2.1 - LO2.1
NOTES: factual

8. According to the U.S. Constitution’s national supremacy clause,

a. state laws take precedence over federal laws.
b. federal laws enacted under the U.S. Constitution take precedence over state laws.
c. state constitutions are supreme over the national constitution.
d. laws passed by Congress take precedence over the U.S. constitution.
ANSWER: b
REFERENCES: 43
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: PTXP.BROW.16.2.1 - LO2.1
NOTES: applied

9. The powers of the national government that are specifically stated in the U.S. Constitution are referred to as
a. delegated powers.

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CHAPTER 2 - Federalism and the Texas Constitution

b. implied powers.
c. inherent powers.
d. reserved powers.
ANSWER: a
REFERENCES: 43
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: PTXP.BROW.16.2.1 - LO2.1
NOTES: conceptual

10. The “necessary and proper” clause, found in Article I, Section 8 of the U.S. Constitution, is an example of which of
the following?
a. Delegated power
b. Implied power
c. Inherent power
d. Reserved power
ANSWER: b
REFERENCES: 43
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: PTXP.BROW.16.2.1 - LO2.1
NOTES: conceptual

11. The regulation of interstate and foreign commerce among the several states by the U.S. Congress is an example of a(n)
a. delegated power.
b. implied power.
c. inherent power.
d. reserved power.
ANSWER: a
REFERENCES: 43
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: PTXP.BROW.16.2.1 - LO2.1
NOTES: applied

12. Texas may divide into as many as five states under the terms of
a. the Texas Constitution.
b. the congressional resolution admitting Texas into the Union.
c. Article V of the U.S. Constitution.
d. the Tenth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution.
ANSWER: b
REFERENCES: 43
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: PTXP.BROW.16.2.1 - LO2.1
NOTES: factual

13. Which of the following is not protected by the U.S. Constitution?

a. Republican forms of government in each state
b. Territorial integrity—a state cannot be combined with another state without its consent
c. Each state is provided two members in the U.S. Senate and at least one member in the U.S. House of
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ambitious young men have ever shown themselves in like
circumstances."

"Without doubt. The disadvantages of marriage to a woman with a

profession are more obvious than to a man, and it is just the question of
maternity, with all its duties and responsibilities, which is occasionally
the cause of many women forswearing the privileges of the married
state."

"Well, Ulrica," I said, "speaking candidly, would you marry if you

had a really good offer?"

"Marry? Certainly not," she answered, with a laugh, as though the

idea were perfectly preposterous. "Why should I marry? I've had a host
of offers, just as every woman with a little money always has. But why
should I renounce my freedom? If I married, my husband would forbid
this and forbid that—and you know I couldn't live without indulging in
my little pet vices of smoking and gambling."

"Wouldn't your husband's love fill the void?" I queried.

"It would be but a poor substitute, I'm afraid. The most ardent love
nowadays cools within six months, and more often even wanes with the
honeymoon."

"I've really no patience with you," I said hastily. "You're far too
cynical."

She smiled, and then sighed gently. She looked so young in her pale
pink peignoir.

"Contact with the world has made me what I am, my dear Carmela."

"Well," I said, "to be quite candid, I don't think that the real cause
why so many women nowadays remain single is to be found in the
theories we've been airing to one another. The fact is, after all, that we're
only a bundle of nerves and emotions, and once our affections are
involved we are capable of any heroism."

"You may be one of those, my dear," was her rather grave response.
"I'm afraid, however, that I am not."
 I did not pursue the subject further. She was kind and sympathetic in
all else, save where my love was concerned. My affection for Ernest was
to her merely an amusing incident. She seemed unable to realise how
terribly serious I was, or what a crushing blow had fallen upon me when
he had turned and forsaken me.

Gerald called at eleven, for he had arranged to accompany us to

Beaulieu.

"Miss Rosselli," he cried, as he greeted me, "you're a brick—that you

are!"

"A brick!" I echoed. "Why?"

"Why, you've worked an absolute miracle with the guv'nor. Nobody

else could persuade him to set foot on the Vispera except to return to
England, yet you've induced him to arrange for a cruise up the
Mediterranean."

Ulrica glanced at me with a confident air. I knew the thought which

rose in her mind.

"Are you glad?" I asked him.

"Glad? I should rather think so! We shall have a most glorious time!
He intends asking the Farnells, Lord Eldersfield, Lord and Lady
Stoneborough, and quite a lot of people. We've got you to thank for it.
No power on earth would induce him to put to sea—except yourself,
Miss Rosselli."

"No, Gerald," I said. "Please don't flatter me. It's bad form, you
know. Your father asked me if I would like a cruise, and I responded in
the affirmative, that's all."

"Well, at any rate, it's enough," answered the young man

enthusiastically. "The guv'nor has sent for Davis, the skipper, and when I
left him, was poring over a chart of the Eastern Mediterranean. There's
only one condition that I've made, and I think you'll both agree with me."

"What's that?" inquired Ulrica, as she buttoned her glove.

 "That we don't take that cur Barnes. I hate that fellow."

"So say all of us," Ulrica observed frankly.

"His air is so superior that people believe him to be at least a son of

the house," Gerald said quickly. "I know that he tells the guv'nor all sorts
of false tales about myself. He knew that I lost pretty heavily at Monte
when I went over with you the other night, and as Mr. Barnes chanced to
be there he was, of course, the amiable gentleman who told the tale. I
always feel as though I'd like to give him a good sound kicking."

"Treat him with contempt," I urged. "Your father is not the kind of
man to believe mere tales without proof. Even if he is a bit eccentric, he's
the essence of justice—that you'll admit."

"Why, Miss Rosselli, I tell you that my old dad is the very best
fellow in all the world. I know all men of his stamp have their little
eccentricities, and therefore forgive him. If he's niggardly towards me,
it's only because he doesn't believe in a young man going the pace too
fast."

"Quite so," I answered, remembering how very lenient the world is

towards the son of a millionaire. "No man should speak ill of his father
—more especially of such an admirable type as your father is."

But I drew myself up short, for I saw a smile playing in the corners
of Ulrica's mouth.

"Let's be off," she said. "We'll take a fiacre to the station. Gerald, tell
them to get us a cab."

And young Keppel went forth to do her bidding.

The Carnival bal masqué at the Casino—the great event of King

Carnival's reign—took place on the following Sunday night, and we
made up a gay party to go to it. There were seven of us, and we looked a
grotesque group as we assembled in the vestibule of the "Grand," attired
in our fantastic costumes and wearing those mysterious masks of black
velvet which so effectively conceal the features. Ulrica represented a
Watteau shepherdess, with wig and crook complete, while I was en bébé,
wearing a simple costume, surmounted by a sun-bonnet with a very wide
brim. One of the women of the party was a Queen of Folly, and another
wore a striking Louis XV. dress; while Gerald represented a demon, and
wore pins in his tail in order to prevent others from pulling that
appendage.

As the distance from the hotel to the Casino was only a few hundred
yards, we walked. Laughter was abundant, for the novelty of the thing
was sublime. Among our party only Gerald had witnessed a previous
Carnival ball, and he had led us to expect a scene of wild merriment.

Certainly we were not disappointed. Having run the gauntlet of a

crowd who smothered us with confetti, we entered the great winter-
garden of the Casino, and found it a blaze of colour—the two colours of
Carnival. Suspended from the high glass roof were thousands of
bannerettes of mauve and gold, while the costumes of the revellers were
of the self-same shades. Everywhere flashed coloured lights of similar
hue, and the fun was already fast and furious. The side-rooms, which, as
most readers will remember, are ordinarily devoted to gambling—for
gambling in a mild form is permitted at Nice—were now turned into
handsome supper-rooms, and in the winter-garden and the theatre
beyond the scene was perhaps one of the liveliest and most enchanting in
the whole world.

Everyone had gone there for full enjoyment. In the theatre there was
wild dancing; the boxes were filled by the grand monde of Europe,
princes and princesses, grand-dukes and grand-duchesses, counts and
countesses, noted actresses from Paris and London, and well-known
people of every nationality, all enjoying the scene of uproarious
merrymaking. We viewed it first from our own box, but at length
someone suggested that we should descend and dance, an idea which at
once found ungrudging favour.

Masked as everyone was, with the little piece of black lace tacked to
the bottom of the black velvet loup, in order to conceal the lower part of
the features, it was impossible to recognise a single person in that
whirling crowd. Therefore, immediately we descended to the floor of the
theatre we at once became separated. I stood for a few moments
bewildered. The blaze of colour made one's head reel. People in all sorts
of droll costumes were playing various kinds of childish antics. Out in
the winter-garden clowns and devils were playing leap-frog, and sylphs
and angels, joining hands, were whirling round and round in huge rings,
playing some game and screaming with laughter. Almost everyone
carried miniature representations of Punch, with bells attached, large
rattles, or paper flowers which, when blown, could be elongated to a
ridiculous extent.

Never before, in all my life, had I been amidst such a merry and
irresponsible crowd. The ludicrousness of Carnival reaches its climax in
the ball at the Casino, and whatever may be said of it, it is without doubt
one of the annual sights of Europe. I had heard it denounced as a
disgraceful exhibition by old ladies, who had been compelled to admit
that they had never been present; but I must say that from first to last,
although the fun was absolutely unbridled, I saw nothing whatever to
offend.

I was standing aside watching the dancers, when suddenly a tall man,
dressed in a remarkable costume representing an owl, approached, and
bowing, said in rather good English, in a deep, but not unmusical voice:

"Might I have the pleasure of this dance with mademoiselle?"

I looked at him in suspicion. He was a weird-looking creature in his

bird-dress of mauve and gold, and the strange mask with two black eyes
peering out at me. Besides, it was not my habit to dance with strangers.

"Ah!" he laughed. "You hesitate because we have not been

introduced. Here in Nice at Carnival one introduces oneself. Well, I have
introduced myself, and now I ask you what is your opinion of my
marvellous get-up. Don't you think me a real fine bird?"

"Certainly," I laughed. "You're absolutely hideous."

"Thanks for the compliment," he answered pleasantly. "To unmask is

forbidden, or I'd take off this terrible affair, for I confess I am half stifled.
But if I'm ugly, you're absolutely charming. It's a case of Beauty and the
Bird. Aren't my wings fetching?"

"Very."

"I knew you were English. Funny how we Frenchmen can always
pick out English and Americans."
 "How did you know I am English?" I inquired.

"Ah! now that's a secret," he laughed. "But hark! it's a waltz. Come
under my wing, and let's dance. I know you'd dearly love a turn round.
For this once throw the introduction farce to the winds, and let me take
you round. The owl is never a ferocious bird, you know."

For a moment I hesitated, then consenting, I whirled away among the

dancers with my unknown partner.

"I saw you up in that box," he said presently. "I was waiting for you
to come down."

"Why?"

With woman's innate coquetry, I felt a delight in misleading him, just

as he was trying to mislead me. There was a decided air of adventure in
that curious meeting. Besides, so many of the dresses were absolutely
alike that, now we had become separated, it was hopeless for me to
discover any of our party. The Nice dressmakers make dozens of
Carnival dresses exactly similar, and when the wearers are masked, it is
impossible to distinguish one from the other.

"Well," he said evasively, in answer to my question, "I wanted a

partner."

"And so you waited for me? Surely any other would have done as
well?"

"No, that's just it. She wouldn't. I wanted to dance with you."

The waltz had ended, and we strolled together out of the theatre into
the great winter-garden, with its bright flower-beds and graceful palms—
a kind of huge conservatory, which forms a gay promenade each evening
in the season.

"I don't see why you should entertain such a desire," I said.
"Besides," and I paused to gain breath for the little untruth, "I fear now
that my husband will be furious if he has noticed us."
 "I might say the same about my wife—if I wished to import fiction
into the romance," he said.

"Then you have no wife?" I suggested, with a laugh.

"My wife is just as real as your husband," he responded bluntly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if you really have a husband, it is an extremely

surprising confession."

"Why surprising?"

"Well, it's true that husbands are like Somebody's sewing-machines,

no home being complete without one," he laughed. "But I really had no
idea that Mademoiselle Carmela Rosselli possessed such a useful
commodity."

"What!" I gasped, glaring at the hideous-looking Owl. "You know

me?"

"Yes," he responded, in a deeper tone, more earnestly than before. "I

know quite well who you are. I have come here to-night expressly to
speak with you."

I started, and stood glaring at him in wonderment.

"I have," he added, in a low, confidential voice, "something

important to say to you—something most important."

CHAPTER VIII

NARRATES A MYSTERIOUS INCIDENT

"You are a perfect stranger, sir," I said, with considerable hauteur.

"Until you care to give me your name, and make known who you are, I
have no wish to hear this important statement of yours."

"No," he answered, "I regret very much that for certain reasons I am
unfortunately unable to furnish my name. I am The Owl—that is
sufficient."

"No, not for me. As I am not in the habit of thus chattering with
strangers at a public ball, I must wish you good evening," I said, and
turned abruptly away.

In an instant he was again at my side.

"Listen, Miss Rosselli," he said, in a deeply earnest tone. "You must

listen to me. I have something to tell you which closely concerns
yourself—your future welfare."

"Well?" I inquired.

"I cannot speak now, as someone may overhear. I had to exercise the
greatest precaution in approaching you for there are spies everywhere,
and a single blunder would be fatal."

"What do you mean?" I inquired, at once interested.

The manner of this hideously disguised man who spoke such

excellent English was certainly mysterious, and I could not doubt that he
was in real earnest.

"Let us walk over there, and sit in that corner," he said, indicating a
seat half hidden in the bamboos. "If there is no one near, I will explain. If
we are watched, then we must contrive to find some other place."

"In our box," I suggested. "We can sit at the back in the alcove,
where no one can see us."

"Excellent!" he answered. "I never thought of that. But if any of your

party return there?"

"I can merely say that you invited me to dance, and I, in return,
invited you there for a few moments' rest.
 "Then let's go," he said, and a few minutes later we were sitting far
back in the shadow of the box on the second tier, high above the music
and gay revelry.

"Well," I inquired eagerly, when we were seated, "and why did you
wish to see me to-night?"

"First, I have knowledge—which you will not, I think deny—that

you loved a man in London—one Ernest Cameron."

"Well?"

"And at this moment there is a second man who, although not your
lover, is often in your thoughts. The man's name is Benjamin Keppel.
Am I correct?"

"I really don't see by what right you submit me to this cross-
examination upon affairs which only concern myself," I responded in a
hard voice, although I was eager to determine the identity of this masked
man.

"Marriage with a millionaire is a temptation which few women can

resist," he said philosophically, in a voice undisturbed by my harsh
retort. "Temptations are the crises which test the strength of one's
character. Whether a woman stands or falls at these crises depends very
largely on what she is before the testing comes."

"And pray what concern have you in my intentions or actions?" I

demanded.

"You will discover that in due time," he answered. "I know that to the
world you, like your companion, Ulrica Yorke, pretend to be a woman
who prefers her freedom and has no thought of love. Yet you are only
acting the part of the free woman. At heart you love as intensely and hate
as fiercely as all the others. Is not that so?"

"You speak remarkably plainly, as though you were well acquainted

with my private affairs," I remarked resentfully.

"I only say what I know to be the truth," he replied. "You, Carmela
Rosselli, are not heartless like that emotionless woman who is your
friend. The truth is that you love—you still love Ernest Cameron."

I rose in quick indignation.

"I refuse to hear you further, monsieur!" I cried. "Kindly let me

pass."

His hand was on the door of the box, and he kept it there,
notwithstanding my words.

"No," he said, quite coolly. "You must hear me—indeed, you shall
hear me!"

"I have heard you," I answered. "You have said sufficient."

"I have not finished," he replied. "When I have done so, you will, I
think, only be anxious to learn more." He added quite calmly: "If you
will kindly be seated, so as not to attract attention, I will go on."

I sank back into my seat without further effort to arrest his words.
The adventure was most extraordinary, and certainly his grotesque
appearance held me puzzled.

"Here, in Nice, not long ago," he continued, "you met a man who
believed himself in love with you, yet a few nights later he was foully
murdered in your sitting-room at the hotel."

"Reginald Thorne," I said quickly, in a strained voice, for the

memory of that distressing event was very painful.

"Yes, Reginald Thorne," he repeated, in a low, hoarse voice.

"You knew him?" I asked.

"Yes, I knew him," was his response, in a deep, strange tone. "It is to
speak of him that I have sought you to-night."

"If you are so well aware who I am, and of all my movements, you
might surely have called upon me," I remarked dubiously.

"Ah, no! That would have been impossible. None must know that we
have met!"
 "Why?"

"Because there are reasons—very strong reasons—why our meeting

should be kept secret," the voice responded, the pair of sharp black eyes
peering forth mysteriously from the two holes in the owl's face. "We are
surrounded by spies. Here, in France, they have reduced espionage to a
fine art."

"And yet the police have failed to discover the murderer of poor Mr.
Thorne," I observed.

"They will never do that."

"Why not?"

"They will never solve the mystery without aid."

"Whose aid?"

"Mine."

"What?" I cried, starting quickly. "Are you actually in possession of

some fact that will lead to the arrest of the culprit? Tell me quickly. Is it
really certain that he was murdered, and did not die a natural death?"

"Ah!" he laughed. "I told you a few minutes ago that you would be
anxious to hear my statement. Was I not correct?"

"Of course! I had no idea that you were in possession of any facts or
evidence regarding the crime. What do you know about it?

"At present I am not at liberty to say—except that the person who

committed the deed was no ordinary criminal."

"Then he was murdered, and the motive was robbery?"

"That was the police theory, but I can at once assure you that they
were entirely mistaken. Theft was not the motive."

"But the money was stolen from his pockets!" I said.

 "How do you prove that? He might have secreted it somewhere
before the attack was made upon him."

"I feel certain that the money was stolen," I answered.

"Well, you are, of course, welcome to your own opinion," he

answered carelessly. "I can only assure you that, even though the money
was not found upon him, robbery was not the motive of the crime."

"And you have come to me in order to tell me that?" I said. "Perhaps

you will explain further."

"I come to you, Miss Rosselli, because a serious responsibility rests

upon yourself."

"In what manner?"

"The unfortunate young man was attracted towards you; he

accompanied you to Monte Carlo on the day of his death, and he was
found dead in your sitting-room."

"I know," I said. "But why did he go there?"

"Because he, no doubt, wished to speak with you."

"At that late hour? I cannot conceive why he should want to speak
with me. He might have come to me in the morning."

"No. The matter was pressing—very pressing."

"Then if you know its nature, as you apparently do, perhaps you will
tell me."

"I can do nothing," the deep voice responded. "I only desire to warn
you."

"To warn me!" I cried, surprised. "Of what?"

"Of a danger which threatens you."

"A danger? Explain it."

 "Then kindly give me your undivided attention for a moment," the
Owl said earnestly, at the same time peering into my eyes with that air of
mystery which so puzzled me. "Perhaps it will not surprise you to know
that in this matter of the death of Reginald Thorne there are several
interests at stake, and the most searching and secret inquiries have been
made on behalf of the young man's friends by detectives sent from
London, and from New York. These inquiries have established one or
two curious facts, but so far from elucidating the mystery, they have only
tended to render it more inscrutable. As I have already said, the person
actually responsible for the crime is no ordinary murderer, and
notwithstanding the fact that some of the shrewdest and most
experienced detectives have been at work, they can discover nothing.
You follow me?"

"Perfectly."

"Then I will proceed further. Has it ever occurred to you that you
might, if you so desired, become the wife of old Benjamin Keppel?"

"I really don't see what that has to do with the matter under
discussion," I said, with quick indignation.

"Then you admit that old Mr. Keppel is among your admirers?"

"I admit nothing," I responded. "I see no reason why you, a perfect
stranger, should intrude upon my private affairs in this manner."

"The intrusion is for your own safety," he answered ambiguously.

"And what need I fear, pray? You spoke of some extraordinary

warning, I believe."

"True, I wish to warn you," said the man in strange disguise. "I came
here to-night at considerable risk to do so."

I hesitated. Then, after a few moments of reflection, I resolved upon

making a bold shot.

"Those who speak of risk are invariably in fear," I said. "Your words
betray that you have some connection with the crime."
 I watched him narrowly, and saw him start perceptibly. Then I
congratulated myself upon my shrewdness, and was determined to fence
with him further and endeavour to make him commit himself. I rather
prided myself upon smart repartee, and many had told me that at times I
shone as a brilliant conversationalist.

"Ah!" he said hastily, "I think you mistake me, Miss Rosselli. I am
acting in your interests entirely."

"If so, then surely you may give me your name or tell me who you
are."

"I prefer to remain unknown," he replied.

"Because you fear exposure."

"I fear no exposure," he protested. "I came here to speak with you
secretly to-night, because had I called openly at your hotel my visit
would have aroused suspicion, and most probably have had the effect of
thwarting the plans of those who are endeavouring to solve the enigma."

"But you give me no proof whatever of your bona fides!" I declared.

"Simply because I am unable. I merely come to give you warning."

"Of what?"

"Of the folly of flirtation."

I sprang to my feet indignantly.

"You insult me!" I cried. "I will bear it no longer. Please let me pass!"

"I shall not allow you to leave until I have finished," he answered
determinedly. "You think that I am not in earnest, but I tell you I am.
Your whole future depends upon your acceptance of my suggestion."

"And what is your suggestion, pray?"

"That you should no longer regard old Mr. Keppel as your possible
husband."
 "I have never regarded him as such," I responded, with a
contemptuous laugh. "But supposing that I did—supposing that he
offered me marriage, what then?"

"Then a disaster would fall upon you. It is of that disaster that I came
here to-night to warn you," he said, speaking quickly in a hoarse voice.
"Recollect that you must never become his wife—never!"

"If I did, what harm could possibly befall me?" I inquired eagerly, for
the stranger's prophetic words were, to say the least, exceedingly strange.

He was silent for a moment, then said slowly:

"Remember the harm that befell Reginald Thorne."

"What?" I cried in alarm. "Death?"

"Yes," he answered solemnly, "death."

I stood before him for a moment breathless.

"Then, to put it plainly," I said, in an uneven voice, "I am threatened

with death should I marry Benjamin Keppel?"

"Even to become betrothed to him would be fatal," he answered.

"And by whom am I thus threatened?"

"That is a question I cannot answer. I am here merely to warn you,

not to give explanations."

"But the person who takes such an extraordinary interest in my

private affairs must have some motive for this threat?"

"Of course."

"What is it?"

"How can I tell? It is not myself who is threatening you. I have only
given you warning."

"There is a reason, then, why I should not marry Mr. Keppel?"

 "There is even a reason why you should in future refuse to accept his
invitations to the Villa Fabron," my strange companion replied. "You
have been invited to form one of a party on board the Vispera, but for
your personal safety I would presume to advise you not to go."

"I shall certainly please myself," I replied. "These threats will

certainly not deter me from acting just as I think proper. If I go upon a
cruise with Mr. Keppel and his son, I shall have no fear of my personal
safety."

"Reginald Thorne was young and athletic. He had no fear. But he

disobeyed a warning. You know the result."

"Then you wish me to decline Mr. Keppel's invitation and remain in

Nice?"

"I urge you, for several reasons, to decline his invitation, but I do not
suggest that you should remain in Nice. I am the bearer of instructions to
you. If you carry them out, they will be distinctly to your benefit."

"What are they?"

"To-day," he said, "is the 18th of February. Those who have your
welfare at heart desire that you should, after the Riviera season is over,
go to London, arriving there on the 1st of June next."

"Well?" I exclaimed.

This stranger seemed to possess a good deal of knowledge in regard

to my antecedents.

"Well, on arrival in London you will go to the Hotel Cecil, and there
receive a visitor on the following day, the 2nd of June. You will then be
given certain instructions, which must be carried out."

"All this is very mysterious," I remarked. "But I really have no

intention of returning to London until next autumn."

"I think you will," was his reply, "because, when you fully consider
all the circumstances, you will keep the appointment in London, and
learn the truth."
 "The truth regarding the death of Reginald Thorne?" I cried. "Cannot
I learn it here?"

"No," he replied. "And further, you will never learn it unless you take
heed of the plain words I have spoken to-night."

"You tell me that any further friendship between Mr. Keppel and
myself is forbidden," I exclaimed, laughing. "Why, the whole thing is
really too absurd! I shall, of course, just please myself—as I always do."

"In that case, disaster is inevitable," he observed, with a sigh.

"You tell me that I am threatened with death if I disobey. That is

certainly extremely comforting."

"You appear to regard what I have said very lightly, Miss Rosselli,"
said the unknown voice. "It would be well if you regarded your love for
Ernest Cameron just as lightly."

"He has nothing whatever to do with this matter," I said quickly. "I
am mistress of my own actions, and I refuse to be influenced by any
threats uttered by a person who fears to reveal his identity."

"As you will," he replied, with an impatient movement. "I am

unknown to you, it is true, but I think I have shown an intimate
knowledge of your private affairs."

"If, as you assure me, you are acting in my interests, you may surely
tell me the truth regarding the mystery surrounding poor Reginald's
death," I suggested.

"That is unfortunately not within my power," he responded. "I am in

possession only of certain facts, and have risked much in coming here to-
night to give you warning."

"But how can my affairs affect anyone?" I queried. "What you have
told me is, if true, most extraordinary."

"It is true, and it is, as you say, very extraordinary. Your friend Mr.
Thorne died mysteriously. I only hope, Miss Rosselli, that you will not
share the same fate."
 I paused and looked at the curious figure before me.

"In order to avoid doing so, then, I am to hold aloof from Mr.
Keppel, remain here until May, and then travel back to London, there to
meet some person unknown?"

"Exactly. But there is still one thing further. I am charged to offer for
your acceptance a small present, as some small recompense for the
trouble you must be put to by waiting here in the South, and then
journeying to London," and he drew from beneath his strangely
grotesque dress a small box, some four or five inches square, wrapped in
paper, which he handed to me.

I did not take it. There was something uncanny about it all.

"Do not hesitate, or we may be observed," he said. "Take it quickly.

Do not open it until you return to your hotel."

With these words he thrust it into my hand.

"Remember what I have said," he exclaimed, rising quickly. "I must

be gone, for I see that suspicion is aroused by those who are watching.
Act with prudence, and the disaster against which I have warned you will
not occur. Above all, keep the appointment in London on the 2nd of
June."

"But why?"

"Because for your own safety it is imperative," he responded, and

with a low bow he opened the door of the box.

The next instant I was alone with the little packet the stranger had
given me resting in my hand.

CHAPTER IX

SHOWS THE BIRD'S TALONS

 For some little time after my mysterious companion had left I sat
forward in the box, gazing down at the wild revelry below, and hoping
that one or other of the party would recognise me.

So great a crowd was there, and so many dresses exactly similar, that
to distinguish Ulrica or Gerald, or indeed any of the others, proved
absolutely impossible. They might, of course, be in one or other of the
supper-rooms, and I saw from the first that there was but little chance of
finding them.

Leaning my elbows on the edge of the box, I gazed down upon the
scene of reckless merriment, but my thoughts were full of the strange
words uttered by the mysterious masker. The packet he had given me I
had transferred to my pocket, though with pardonable curiosity I longed
to open it and see what it contained.

The warning he had given me was extremely disconcerting. It

worried me. No woman likes to think that she has unknown enemies
ready to take her life. Yet that was apparently my position.

That life could be taken swiftly and without detection, I had plainly
seen in the case of poor Reggie. When I recollected his terrible fate I
shuddered. Yet this man had plainly given me to understand that the
same fate awaited me if I did not adopt the line of conduct which he had
laid down.

Whoever he might be, he certainly was acquainted with all my

movements, and knew intimately my feelings. There was certainly no
likelihood of my marriage with old Benjamin Keppel. I scouted the idea.
Yet he knew quite well that the millionaire had become attracted by me,
and reposed in me a confidence which he did not extend to others. The
more I reflected, the more I became convinced that the stranger's fear of
being recognised arose from the fact that he himself was either the
murderer or an accessory to the murder of poor Reggie.

What did the demand that I should return to London denote? It could
only mean one thing—namely, that my assistance was required.

Whoever were my enemies, they were, I argued, enemies likewise of

old Mr. Keppel. The present which the stranger had pressed upon me was
nothing less than a bribe to secure either my silence or my services.
 However much I tried, it appeared out of the question for me to
discover the motive guiding the stranger's conduct. The only certain fact
was that this man, so cleverly disguised that I could not distinguish his
real height, much less his form or features, had come there, watched for a
favourable opportunity to speak with me, and had warned me to sever
my friendship with the millionaire.

Leaning there, gazing blankly down upon the crowd screaming with
laughter at the Parisian quadrilles and antics of clown and columbine, I
coolly analysed my own feeling towards the blunt, plain-spoken old
gentleman with the melancholy eyes. I found—as I had believed all
along—that I admired him for his honest good-nature, his utter lack of
anything approaching "side," his strenuous efforts to assist in good
works, and his regard for appearances only for his son's sake. But I did
not love him. No, I had loved one man. I could never love another—
never in all my life!

Perhaps Ernest Cameron was present, disguised by a mask and dress

of parti-coloured satin! Perhaps he was down there among the dancers,
escorting that woman who had usurped my place. The thought held me
in wonder.

Suddenly, however, I was brought back to a due sense of my

surroundings by the opening of the door of the box, and the entry of one
of the theatre attendants, who, addressing me in French, said:

"I beg mademoiselle's pardon, but the Director would esteem it a

favour if mademoiselle would step down to the bureau at once."

"What do they want with me?" I inquired quickly, with considerable

surprise.

"Of that I have no knowledge, mademoiselle; I was merely told to

ask you to go there without delay."

Therefore, in wonder, I rose and followed the man downstairs and

through the crowd of revellers to the private office of the Director, close
to the main entrance of the Casino.

In the room I found the Director, an elderly man, with short, stiff
grey hair, sitting at a table, while near him stood two men dressed as