In a flash it was gone.

But in that brief space Philip had seen enough to hold him like one turned to stone, still staring where the face had been, his heart beating like a hammer.

As the face disappeared he had seen a hand pass swiftly through the light, and in the hand was a pistol.

It was not this fact, nor the suddenness of the apparition, that drew the gasping breath from his lips.

It was the face, filled with a hatred that was almost madness--the face of Jean Jacques Croisset! Scarcely was it gone when Philip sprang to the table, snatched up his automatic, and ran out into the hall.