"The vaults of the Metropolitan Bank on Wall Street were blown open with dynamite, and half a million dollars were stolen.

No trace of the thieves has been discovered." "Too bad!" exclaimed half a dozen of the guests seeking to enhance interest in the subject.
"Zey were very bold about it," said the Count, as he lighted a piece of sugar soaked in cognac and held it over his coffee.
Just at that moment a singular thing happened.

The lights grew dim and suddenly went out, as if the gas had been turned off.

The burning cognac cast a white flickering light upon the face of the man who had just spoken.
"You say there is no trace of the thieves," said Rayel.

"That is strange, for one of them is in this room sitting at your table." Only one face was visible, and all eyes were turned upon it, for now the effect of that pale light keeping it in view was indescribably weird.
The eyes were suddenly turned in the direction of Rayel, and a devilish glare came in them for an instant, when the face suddenly seemed to shrink back into darkness.