"Do you know I feel almost inclined to offer you the proverbial penny," said Miss Kitwater's voice behind me, at the drawing-room door. "Is it permissible to ask what you were thinking about?"

I am not of course prepared to swear it, but I honestly believe for the first time for many years, I blushed.

"I was thinking how very pleasant a country life must be," I said, making the first excuse that came to me. "I almost wish that I could lead one."

"Then why don't you? Surely it would not be so very difficult?"

"I am rather afraid it would," I answered. "And yet I don't know why it should be."

"Perhaps Mrs. Fairfax would not care about it," she continued, as we returned to the drawing-room together.

"Good gracious!" I remarked. "There is no Mrs. Fairfax. I am the most confirmed of old bachelors. I wonder you could not see that. Is not the word crustiness written plainly upon my forehead?"

"I am afraid I cannot see it," she answered. "I am not quite certain who it was, but I fancy it was my uncle who informed me that you were married."

"It was very kind of him," I said. "But it certainly is not the case. I fear my wife would have rather a lonely time of it if it were. I am obliged to be away from home so much, you see, and for so long at a time."

"Yours must be indeed a strange profession, Mr. Fairfax, if I may say so," she continued. "Some time ago I came across an account, in a magazine, of your life, and the many famous cases in which you had taken part."

"Ah! I remember the wretched thing," I said. "I am sorry that you should ever have seen it."

"And why should you be sorry?"

"Because it is a silly thing, and I have always regretted allowing the man to publish it. He certainly called upon me and asked me a lot of questions, after which he went away and wrote that article. Ever since then I have felt like a conceited ass, who tried to make himself out more clever than he really was."

"I don't think you would do that," she said. "But, if you will let me say so, yours must be a very trying life, and also an extremely dangerous one. I am afraid you must look upon human nature from a very strange point of view!"

"Not more strange probably than you do," I answered.

"But you are continually seeing the saddest side of it. To you all the miseries that a life of crime entails, are visible. The greater part of your time is spent among desperate men who are without hope, and to whom even their own shadows are a constant menace. I wonder that you still manage to retain your kind heart."

"But how do you know that my heart is kind?" I inquired.

"If for no other reason, simply because you have taken up my uncle's case," she answered. "Do you think when he was so rude to you just now, that I could not see that you pitied him, and for that reason you forbore to take advantage of your power? I know you have a kind heart."

"And you find it difficult to assimilate that kind heart with the remorseless detective of Public Life?"

"I find it difficult to recognize in you the man who, on a certain notable occasion, went into a thieves' den in Chicago unaccompanied, and after a terrible struggle in which you nearly lost your life, succeeded in effecting the arrest of a notorious murderer."

At that moment the gong in the hall sounded for lunch, and I was by no means sorry for the interruption. We found Kitwater and Codd awaiting our coming in the dining-room, and we thereupon sat down to the meal. When we left the room again, we sat in the garden and smoked, and later in the afternoon, my hostess conducted me over her estate, showed me her vineries, introduced me to her two sleek Jerseys, who had their home in the meadow I had seen from the window; to her poultry, pigs, and the pigeons who came fluttering about her, confident that they would come to no harm. Meanwhile her uncle had resumed his restless pacing up and down the path on which I had first seen him, Codd had returned to his archaeological studies, and I was alone with Miss Kitwater. We were standing alone together, I remember, at the gate that separated the garden from the meadowland. I knew as well as possible, indeed I had known it since we had met in the churchyard that morning, that she had something to say to me, something concerning which she had not quite made up her mind. What it was, however, I fancied I could hazard a very good guess, but I was determined not to forestall her, but to wait and let her broach it to me in her own way. This, I fancied, she was now about to do.

"Mr. Fairfax," she began, resting her clasped hands upon the bar of the gate as she spoke, "I want, if you will allow me, to have a serious talk with you. I could not have a better opportunity than the present, and, such as it is, I want to make the best of it."

"I am quite at your service, Miss Kitwater," I replied, "and if I can be of any use to you I hope you will tell me. Pray let me know what I can do for you?"

"It is about my uncle and Mr. Codd that I want to speak to you," she said, sinking her voice a little, as if she were afraid they might hear.

"And what about them?"

"I want to be loyal to them, and yet I want to know what you think of the whole affair," she said, looking intently at me as she spoke. "Believe me, I have good and sufficient reasons for my request."

"I am to tell exactly what I think about their pursuit of this man Hayle? And what chances of success I think they possess?" I said.

"I am not thinking so much of their success," she returned, "as of the real nature of their case."

"I believe I understand what is passing in your mind," I said. "Indeed I should not be surprised if the suspicion you entertain is not the same as I have myself."

"You have been suspicious then?"

"I could scarcely fail to be," I replied.

"Perhaps you will tell me what you suspect?"

"Will you forgive me, in my turn, if I am abrupt, or if I speak my mind a little too plainly?"

"You could not do that," she answered with a sigh. "I want to know your exact thoughts, and then I shall be able to form my own conclusions."

"Well," I said, "before I begin, may I put one or two questions to you? You will, of course, remember that I had never seen or heard of your uncle and Mr. Codd until they stopped me on Ludgate Hill. They were and practically are strangers to me. I have heard their story of their treasure, but I have not heard what any one else has to say upon the subject."

"I think I understand. Now what are your questions?"

"In the first place, did your late father ever speak to you of his brother as being a missionary in China?"

She shook her head, and from the look upon her face I could see that I had touched upon something painful. This, at least, was one of the things that had struck her as suspicious.

"If he were a missionary, I am quite sure my father did not know it," she said. "In fact I always understood that he was somewhat of a scapegrace, and in consequence could never settle down to anything. That is your first, now what is your second question, Mr. Fairfax?"

I paused for a moment before I replied.

"My second partakes more of the nature of an assertion than a question," I answered. "As I read it, you are more afraid of what may happen should the two men meet than anything else."

"Yes, that is just what I am afraid of," she replied. "My uncle's temper is so violent, and his desire for revenge so absorbing, that I dare not think what would happen if he came into actual contact with Hayle. Now that I have replied to your questions, will you give me the answer I want? That is to say will you tell me what you think of the whole affair?"

"If you wish it, I will," I said slowly. "You have promised to permit me to be candid, and I am going to take advantage of that permission. In my own mind I do not believe the story they tell. I do not believe that they were ever missionaries, though we have convincing proofs that they have been in the hands of the Chinese. That Hayle betrayed them I have not the least doubt, it seems consistent with his character, but where they obtained the jewels, that are practically the keystones to the whole affair, I have no more notion than you. They may have been honestly come by, or they may not. So far as the present case is concerned that fact is immaterial. There is still, however, one vital point we have to consider. If the gems in question belong equally to the three men, each is entitled to his proper share, either of the stones or of the amounts realized by the sale. That share, as you already know, would amount to a considerable sum of money. Your uncle, I take it, has not a penny-piece in the world, and his companion is in the same destitute condition. Now we will suppose that I find Hayle for them, and they meet. Does it not seem to you quite possible that your uncle's rage might lead him to do something desperate, in order to revenge himself upon the other? But if he could command himself he would probably get his money? If, on the other hand, they do not meet, then what is to be done? Forgive me, Miss Kitwater, for prying into your private affairs, but in my opinion it is manifestly unfair that you should have to support these two men for the rest of their existences."

"You surely must see that I would rather do that than let my father's brother commit a crime," she returned, more earnestly than she had yet spoken.

The position was decidedly an awkward one. It was some proof of the girl's sterling qualities that she should be prepared to make such a sacrifice for the sake of a man whom it was certainly impossible to love, and for that reason even to respect. I looked at her with an admiration in my face that I did not attempt to conceal. I said nothing by way of praise, however. It would have been an insult to her to have even hinted at such a thing.

"Pardon me," I said at last, "but there is one thing that must be taken into consideration. Some day, Miss Kitwater, you may marry, and in that case your husband might not care about the arrangement you have made. Such things have happened before now."

She blushed a rosy red and hesitated before she replied.

"I do not consider it very likely that I shall ever marry," she answered. "And even if I did I should certainly not marry a man who would object to my doing what I consider to be my duty. And now that we have discussed all this, Mr. Fairfax, what do you think we had better do? I understood you to say to my uncle that you intend leaving for Paris to-morrow morning, in order to continue your search for the man Hayle. Supposing you find him, what will you do then?"

"In such a case," I said slowly, looking at her all the time, "I should endeavour to get your uncle's and Codd's share of the treasure from him. If I am successful, then I shall let him go where he pleases."

"And supposing you are unsuccessful in obtaining the money or the gems?"

"Then I must endeavour to think of some other way," I replied, "but somehow I do not think I shall be unsuccessful."

"Nor do I," she answered, looking me full and fair in the face. "I fancy you know that I believe in you most implicitly, Mr. Fairfax."

"In that case, do you mind shaking hands upon it?" I said.

"I will do so with much pleasure," she answered. "You cannot imagine what a weight you have lifted off my mind. I have been so depressed about it lately that I have scarcely known what to do. I have lain awake at night, turning it over and over in my mind, and trying to convince myself as to what was best to be done. Then my uncle told me you were coming down here, and I resolved to put the case before you as I have done and to ask your opinion."

She gave me her little hand, and I took it and held it in my own. Then I released it and we strode back along the garden-path together without another word. The afternoon was well advanced by this time, and when we reached the summer-house, where Codd was still reading, we found that a little wicker tea-table had been brought out from the house and that chairs had been placed for us round it. To my thinking there is nothing that becomes a pretty woman more than the mere commonplace act of pouring out tea. It was certainly so in this case. When I looked at the white cloth upon the table, the heavy brass tray, and the silver jugs and teapot, and thought of my own cracked earthenware vessel, then reposing in a cupboard in my office, and in which I brewed my cup of tea every afternoon, I smiled to myself. I felt that I should never use it again without recalling this meal. After that I wondered whether it would ever be my good fortune to sit in this garden again, and to sip my Orange Pekoe from the same dainty service. The thought that I might not do so was, strangely enough, an unpleasant one, and I put it from me with all promptness. During the meal, Kitwater scarcely uttered a word. We had exhausted the probabilities of the case long since, and I soon found that he could think or talk of nothing else. At six o'clock I prepared to make my adieux. My train left Bishopstowe for London at the half-hour, and I should just have time to walk the distance comfortably. To my delight my hostess decided to go to church, and said she would walk with me as far as the lych-gate. She accordingly left us and went into the house to make her toilet. As soon as she had gone Kitwater fumbled his way across to where I was sitting, and having discovered a chair beside me, seated himself in it.

"Mr. Fairfax," said he, "I labour under the fear that you cannot understand my position. Can you realize what it is like to feel shut up in the dark, waiting and longing always for only one thing? Could you not let me come to Paris with you to-morrow?"

"Impossible," I said. "It is out of the question. It could not be thought of for a moment!"

"But why not? I can see no difficulty in it?"

"If for no other reason because it would destroy any chance of my even getting on the scent. I should be hampered at every turn."

He heaved a heavy sigh.

"Blind! blind!" he said with despair in his voice. "But I know that I shall meet him some day, and when I do——"

His ferocity was the more terrible by reason of his affliction.

"Only wait, Mr. Kitwater," I replied. "Wait, and if I can help you, you shall have your treasure back again. Will you then be satisfied?"

"Yes, I'll be satisfied," he answered, but with what struck me as almost reluctance. "Yes, when I have my treasure back again I'll be satisfied, and so will Codd. In the meantime I'll wait here in the dark, the dark in which the days and nights are the same. Yes, I'll wait and wait and wait."

At that moment Miss Kitwater made her reappearance in the garden, and I rose to bid my clients farewell.

"Good-bye, Mr. Kitwater," I said. "I'll write immediately I reach Paris, and let you know how I am getting on."

"You are very kind," Kitwater answered, and Codd nodded his head.

My hostess and I then set off down the drive to the righ road which we followed towards the village. It was a perfect evening, and the sun was setting in the west in a mass of crimson and gold. At first we talked of various commonplace subjects, but it was not very long before we came back, as I knew we should do, to the one absorbing topic.

"There is another thing I want to set right with you, Miss Kitwater," I said, as we paused upon the bridge to which I have elsewhere referred. "It is only a small matter. Somehow, however, I feel that I must settle it, before I can proceed further in the affair with any satisfaction to myself."

She looked at me in surprise.

"What is it?" she asked, "I thought we had settled everything."

"So far as I can see that is the only matter that remains," I answered. "Yet it is sufficiently important to warrant my speaking to you about it. What I want to know is, who I am serving?"

"I don't think I understand," she said, drawing lines with her umbrella upon the stone coping of the bridge as she spoke.

"And yet my meaning is clear," I returned. "What I want to be certain of is, whether I am serving you or your uncle?"

"I don't think you are serving either of us," she answered. "You are helping us to right a great wrong."

"Forgive me, but that is merely trifling with words. I am going to be candid once more. You are paying the money, I believe?"

In some confusion she informed me that this certainly was the case.

"Very well, then, I am certainly your servant," I said. "It is your interests I shall have to study."

"I can trust them implicitly to you, I am sure, Mr. Fairfax," she replied. "And now here we are at the church. If you walk quickly you will be just in time to catch your train. Let me thank you again for coming down to-day."

"It has been a great pleasure to me," I replied. "Perhaps when I return from Paris you will permit me to come down again to report progress?"

"We shall be very pleased to see you," she answered. "Now, good-bye, and a pleasant journey to you!"

We shook hands and parted. As I passed along the road I watched her making her way along the avenue towards the church. There was need for me to shake my head.

"George Fairfax," said I, "it would require very little of that young lady's society to enable you to make a fool of yourself."



CHAPTER VIII

Unlike so many of my countrymen I am prepared to state that I detest the French capital. I always make my visits to it as brief as possible, then, my business completed, off I fly again, seeming to breathe more freely when I am outside its boundaries. I don't know why this should be so, for I have always been treated with the utmost courtesy and consideration by its inhabitants, particularly by those members of the French Detective Force with whom I have been brought in contact.

On this visit I crossed with one of the cleverest Parisian detectives, a man with whom I have had many dealings. He was most anxious to ascertain the reason of my visit to his country. My assurance that I was not in search of any one of his own criminals seemed to afford him no sort of satisfaction. He probably regarded it as an attempt to put him off the scent, and I fancy he resented it. We reached Paris at seven o'clock, whereupon I invited him to dine with me at eight o'clock, at a restaurant we had both patronized on many previous occasions. He accepted my invitation, and promised to meet me at the time and place I named. On the platform awaiting our arrival was my man Dickson, to whom I had telegraphed, ordering him to meet me.

"Well, Dickson," I said, when I had bade the detective an revoir, "what about our man?"

"I've had him under my eye, sir," he answered. "I know exactly what he's been doing, and where he's staying."

"That's good news indeed," I replied. "Have you discovered anything else about him?"

"Yes, sir," he returned. "I find that he's struck up a sudden acquaintance with a lady named Mademoiselle Beaumarais, and that they are to dine together at the Cafe des Ambassadeurs to-night. They have been in and out of half the jewellers' shops in the Rue de la Paix to-day, and he's spending a mint of money on her."

"They are dining at the Cafe des Ambassadeurs to-night, did you say? At what time?"

"I cannot tell you that, sir," Dickson replied. "I only know that they are to dine there together to-night."

"And pray how did you find that out?"

"I made inquiries as to who she was, where she lived, and then pumped her maid," he answered.

"You did not do anything that would excite his suspicions, I hope," I put in. "You ought to know by this time what women are."

"Oh, no, sir, you needn't be afraid," he said. "I was too careful for that. The maid and I are on very friendly terms. She believes me to be a Russian, and I've not denied it."

"It would be safest not to do so," I replied. "If she discovers that you are an Englishman, she might chance to mention the fact to her mistress. She would doubtless let it fall in conversation with him, and then all our trouble would be useless. You speak Russian, do you not?"

"Only pretty well, sir," he answered. "I should be soon bowled out if I came in contact with a real one."

"Well, I think I will be somewhere near the Cafe des Ambassadeurs to-night just to make sure of my man. After that I'll tell you what to do next."

"Very good, sir," he returned. "I suppose you will be staying at the same place?"

"Yes, the same place," I replied. "If you have anything to communicate, you can either call, or send word to me there."

I thereupon departed for the quiet house at which I usually take up my abode when in Paris. The big hotels are places I steer clear of, for the simple reason that I often have business in connection with them, and it does not pay me to become too well known. At this little house I can go out and come in just as I please, have my meals at any time of the day or night, and am as well cared for as at my own abode in London. On this occasion the old lady of the house greeted me with flattering enthusiasm. She had received my telegram, she said, and my usual room awaited me. I accordingly ascended to it in order to dress myself for the dinner of the evening, and as I did so, thought of the pretty bedroom I had seen on the previous day, which naturally led me to think of the owner of the house, at that moment my employer. In my mind's eye I could see her just as she had stood on that old stone bridge at Bishopstowe, with the sunset behind her and the church bells sounding across the meadows, calling the villagers to evensong. How much better it was, I argued, to be standing talking to her there in that old world peace, than to be dressing for a dinner at an up-to-date French restaurant. My toilet completed, I descended to the street, hired a fiacre, and drove to the restaurant where I had arranged to meet my friend. The place in question is neither an expensive nor a fashionable one. It has no halls of mirrors, no dainty little cabinets, but, to my thinking, you can obtain the best dinner in all Paris there. On reaching it I found my guest had been the first to arrive. We accordingly ascended the stairs to the room above, where we selected our table and sat down. My companion was a witty little man with half the languages of Europe on his tongue, and a knowledge of all the tricks and dodges of all the criminal fraternity at his finger-ends. He has since written a book on his experiences, and a stranger volume, or one more replete with a knowledge of the darker side of human nature it would be difficult to find. He had commenced his professional career as a doctor, and like myself had gradually drifted into the detective profession. Among other things he was an inimitable hand at disguising himself, as many a wretched criminal now knows to his cost. Even I, who know him so well, have been taken in by him. I have given alms to a blind beggar in the streets, have encountered him as a chiffonier prowling about the gutters, have sat next to him on an omnibus when he has been clothed as an artisan in a blue blouse, and on not one of those occasions have I ever recognized him until he made himself known to me. Among other things he was a decided epicure, and loved a good dinner as well as any of his compatriots. Could you but see him with his napkin tucked under his chin, his little twinkling eyes sparkling with mirth, and his face wreathed in smiles, you would declare him to be one of the jolliest-looking individuals you have ever encountered. See him, however, when he is on business and has a knotty problem to solve, and you will find a different man. The mouth has become one of iron, the eyes are as fierce as fierce can be. Some one, I remember, likened him to the great Napoleon, and the description is an exceedingly apt one.

"By the way," I said, as we took a peep into our second bottle of Perrier-Jouet, "there is a question I want to put to you. Do you happen to be acquainted with a certain Mademoiselle Beaumarais?"

"I have known her for more years than she or I would care to remember," he answered. "For a woman who has led the life she has, she wears uncommonly well. A beautiful creature! The very finest shoulders in all Paris, and that is saying something."

He blew a kiss off the tips of his fingers, and raised his glass in her honour.

"I drink to her in this noble wine, but I do not let her touch my money. Oh no, la belle Louise is a clever woman, a very clever woman, but money trickles through her fingers like water through a sieve. Let me think for a moment. She ruined the Marquis D'Esmai, the Vicomte Cotforet, Monsieur D'Armier, and many others whose names I cannot now recall. The first is with our noble troops in Cochin China, the second is in Algeria, and the third I know not where, and now I have learnt since my arrival in Paris that she has got hold of a young Englishman, who is vastly wealthy. She will have all he has got very soon, and then he will begin the world anew. You are interested in that Englishman, of course?"

"How do you know that?"

"Because you question me about Mademoiselle Beaumarais," he answered. "A good many people have asked me about her at different times, but it is always the man they want to get hold of. You, my astute Fairfax, are interested in the man, not because you want to save him from her, but because he has done a little something which he should not have done elsewhere. The money he is lavishing on Mademoiselle Louise, whence does it come? Should I be very wrong if I suggested gems?"

I gave a start of surprise. How on earth did he guess this?

"Yes! I see I'm right," he answered with a little laugh. "Well, I knew it a long time ago. Ah, you are astonished! You should surely never allow yourself to be surprised by anything. Now I will tell you how I come to know about the gems. Some time ago a certain well-known lady of this city lost her jewel-case in a mysterious manner. The affair was placed in my hands, and when I had exhausted Paris, I went to Amsterdam, en route if necessary for London. You know our old friends, Levenstein and Schartzer?"

I nodded. I had had dealings with that firm on many occasions.

"Well, as I went into their office, I saw the gentleman who has been paying his attentions to the lady we have been discussing, come out. I have an excellent memory for faces, and when I saw him to-night entering the Cafe des Ambassadeurs, I recognized him immediately. Thus the mystery is explained."

He shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands apart, like a conjurer who has just vanished a rabbit or an orange.

"Has the man of whom we are speaking done very wrong?" he inquired.

"The stones he sold in London and Amsterdam belonged to himself and his two partners," I answered. "He has not given them their share of the transaction. That is all."

"They had better be quick about it then, or they are not likely to get anything. It would be a very big sum that would tempt la belle Louise to be faithful for a long period. If your employers really desire to punish him, and they are not in want of money, I should say do not let them interfere. She will then nibble-nibble at what he has got like a mouse into a store of good things. Then presently that store will be all gone, and then she will give him up, and he, the man, will go out and shoot himself, and she will pick up somebody else, and will begin to nibble-nibble just as before. As I say, there will be somebody else, and somebody else, right up to the end of the chapter. And with every one she will grow just an imperceptible bit older. By and by the wrinkles will appear; I fancy there are just one or two already. Then she will not be so fastidious about her hundred of thousand francs, and will condescend to think of mere thousands. After that it will come to simple hundreds. Then there will be an interval—after which a garret, a charcoal brazier, and the Morgue. I have known so many, and it is always the same. First, the diamonds, the champagne, the exquisite little dinners at the best restaurants, and at last the brazier, the closed doors and windows, and the cold stone slab. There is a moral in it, my dear friend, but we will not look for it to-night. When do you intend to commence business with your man?"

"At once," I answered. "He knows that I am after him and my only fear is that he will make a bolt. I cannot understand why he is dallying in Paris so long?"

"For the simple reason that he is confident he has put you off the scent," was my companion's reply. "He is doing the one foolish thing the criminal always does sooner or later; that is to say, he is becoming over-confident of his own powers to elude us. You and I, my friend, should be able to remember several such instances. Now, strange to say, I came across a curious one the other day. Would you care to hear it?"

He lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke while he waited for my answer.

"Very much," I said, being well aware that his stories were always worth hearing.

"This is a somewhat remarkable case," he said. "I will mention no names, but doubtless you can read between the lines. There was a man who murdered his wife in order that he might marry another woman. The thought which he gave to it, and the clever manner in which he laid his plans, not only for the murder, but also for the disposal of the body, marked him as a criminal in the possession of a singularly brilliant intellect. He gave no hint to anybody, but left the country without leaving the faintest clue concerning his destination behind him. I was called in to take over the case, but after some consideration could make nothing of it. I have no objection to admitting that I was completely baffled. Now it so happened that I discovered that the man's mother was of Irish extraction. He, believing that he would be safe on that island, engaged a passage on board a steamer from Havre to Belfast. She was to pick up at Southampton, Plymouth, and Bristol, en route. My man, who, by the way, was a very presentable person, and could be distinctly sociable when he pleased, endeavoured to make himself agreeable to the passengers on board. On the first evening out of port, the conversation turned upon the value of diamonds, and one of the ladies on board produced some costly stones she happened to have in her possession. The murderer, who, you must understand, was quite safe, was unhappily eaten up with vanity. He could not forego the boast that he was the possessor of a magnificent ring, which had been given him by the ex-Emperor Napoleon III. Needless to say this information excited considerable interest, and he was asked to produce it for the general edification.

"He declared that it was too late to do so that evening, but said that he would do so on the morrow, or, at any rate, before he left the vessel. In the excitement of reaching Southampton the matter was for the moment forgotten, but on the day that they arrived in Plymouth one of the lady passengers reminded him of his promise. This was followed by another application. Thus surrounded, the unhappy man found himself in the unpleasant position of being discovered in the perpetration of an untruth, or of being compelled to invent some feasible tale in order to account for his not being able to produce the ring. It was at this juncture that he made his great mistake. Anxious, doubtless, to attract attention, he returned from his cabin with the astounding declaration that the lock had been forced, and the famous ring stolen from his trunk in which it had lain concealed. He certainly acted his part well, but he did not realize to what consequences it would lead. The matter was reported to the police, and a search was made through the vessel. The passengers were naturally indignant at such treatment, and for the rest of the voyage the man found himself taking, what you English 'call the cold shoulder.' He reached Belfast, made his way into the country, and presently settled down. Later on, when the pursuit had died down, it was his intention to ship for America, where he was to be joined by the woman, to obtain whom he had in the first place committed the crime. Now observe the result. Photographs of the missing man and the murdered woman were circulated all through France, while not a few were sent to England. One of these pictures reached Plymouth, where it was shown to the officer who had investigated the case on the boat on its way to Ireland. He immediately recognized the man who had made the charge against his fellow-passengers. After that it was easy to trace him to Belfast and his hiding-place on land. Extradition was, of course, granted, and he left the place. Had he not imagined that in his safety he could indulge his vanities, I confidently believe I should never have found him. When you come to think of it, it is hard to come to the guillotine for a diamond that never existed, is it not?"

I agreed with him, and then suggested that we should amuse ourselves by endeavouring to find out how the dinner at the Cafe des Ambassadeurs was progressing.

"They will proceed to a theatre afterwards, you may be sure," my companion said. "In that case, if you like we could catch a glimpse of them as they come out. What do you say?"

I answered that I had not the least objection.

"One night does not make much difference. To-morrow morning I shall make a point of meeting him face to face."

"Should you require my assistance then, I shall be most pleased to give it to you?" my companion replied.

I thanked him for his offer, and then we left the restaurant together, hailed a cab, and drove to his flat. It consisted of four rooms situated at the top of a lofty block of buildings near the river. From his windows he could look out over Paris, and he was wont to declare that the view he received in exchange was the most beautiful in the world. Fine as it was, I was scarcely so enthusiastic in my praise.

Among other things they were remarkable for the simplicity of their furniture, and also for the fact that in the sitting-room there was nothing to reveal the occupation of their owner. His clever old servant, Susanne, of whom 'twas said she would, did she but choose, make as clever a detective as her master (she had served him for more than forty years), brought us coffee so quickly that it would almost seem as if she had been aware that we should reach the house at that particular moment.

"We have plenty of time to spare," said my host. "In the meantime it will be necessary for us to find out what they are doing. If you will wait I will despatch a messenger, who will procure us the information."

He wrote something on a half-sheet of note-paper, rang the bell, and handed it to Susanne.

"Give that to Leon," he said, "and tell him to be off with it at once."

The woman disappeared, and when she had gone we resumed our conversation. Had he not had the good fortune to be such a great success in his own profession, what an admirable actor the man would have made! His power of facial contortion was extraordinary, and I believe that on demand he could have imitated almost any face that struck his fancy.

"And now with regard to our little excursion," he said. "What would you like to be? As you are aware, I can offer you a varied selection. Will you be a workman, a pedlar, an elderly gentleman from the Provinces, or a street beggar?"

"I think the elderly gentleman from the Provinces would suit me best," I answered, "while it will not necessitate a change of dress."

"Very good then, so it shall be," he replied. "We'll be a couple of elderly gentlemen in Paris for the first time. Let me conduct you to my dressing-room, where you will find all that is necessary for your make-up."

He thereupon showed me to a room leading out of that in which we had hitherto been sitting. It was very small, and lighted by means of a skylight. Indeed, it was that very skylight, so he always declared, that induced him to take the flat.

"If this room looked out over the back, or front, it would have been necessary for me either to have curtains, which I abominate, or to run the risk of being observed, which would have been far worse," he had remarked to me once. "Needless to say there are times when I find it most necessary that my preparations should not be suspected."

Taken altogether, it was a room that had a strange fascination for me. I had been in it many times before, but was always able to discover something new in it. It was a conglomeration of cupboards and shelves. A large variety of costumes hung upon the pegs in the walls, ranging from soldier's uniforms to beggar's rags. There were wigs of all sorts and descriptions on blocks, pads of every possible order and for every part of the body, humps for hunchbacks, wooden legs, boots ranging from the patent leather of the dandy to the toeless foot-covering of the beggar. There were hats in abundance, from the spotless silk to the most miserable head coverings, some of which looked as if they had been picked up from the rubbish-heap. There were pedlars' trays fitted with all and every sort of ware, a faro-table, a placard setting forth the fact that the renowned Professor Somebody or Other was a most remarkable phrenologist and worthy of a visit. In fact there was no saying what there was not there. Everything that was calculated to be useful to him in his profession was to be found in the room.

For my own part I am not fond of disguises. Indeed on only two or three occasions, during the whole course of my professional career, have I found it necessary to conceal my identity. But to this wily little Frenchman disguise was, as often as not, a common occurrence.

Half-an-hour later, two respectable elderly gentlemen, looking more like professors from some eminent Lycee than detectives, left the house and proceeded in the direction of the Folly Theatre. The performance was almost at an end when we reached it, and we mingled with the crowd who had assembled to watch the audience come out. The inquiries we had made proved to be correct, and it was not very long before I saw the man I wanted emerge, accompanied by a female, who could be no other than Mademoiselle Beaumarais. Hayle was in immaculate evening dress, and as I could not but admit, presented a handsome figure to the world. A neat little brougham drew up beside the pavement in its turn, and into this they stepped. Then the door was closed upon them, and the carriage drove away.

"That's my man," I said to my companion, as we watched it pass out of sight. "To-morrow morning I shall pay him a little visit. I think you were quite right in what you said about the money. That woman must have made a fairly big hole in it already."

"You may be quite sure of that," he answered. "When she has finished with him there will not be much left for anybody else."

"And now to get these things off and then home to bed. To-morrow will in all probability prove an exciting day."

I accompanied him to his room and removed the disguise which had enabled me to see Hayle without his being aware of my identity, and then, bidding my friend good-night, returned to my abode. Before I went to bed, however, I sat down and wrote a report of my doings for Miss Kitwater. Little as I had to tell, the writing of this letter gave me considerable pleasure. I could imagine it coming like a breath from another world to that quiet house at Bishopstowe. I pictured the girl's face as she read it, and the strained attention of the two men, who, needless to say, would hang on every word. When I had finished it I went to bed, to dream that Gideon Hayle and I were swimming a race in the Seine for five gigantic rubies which were to be presented to the winner by Miss Kitwater.

Next morning I arose early, went for a stroll along the Boulevards, and returned to breakfast at eight o'clock. In the matter of my breakfasts in Paris, I am essentially English. I must begin the day with a good meal, or I am fit for nothing. On this particular occasion I sat down on the best of terms with myself and the world in general. I made an excellent meal, did the best I could with the morning paper, for my French is certainly not above reproach, and then wondered when I should set out to interview the man whose flight from England had proved the reason of my visiting Paris. Then the door opened and the concierge entered with the words, "A gentleman to see Monsieur!" Next moment to my overwhelming surprise no less a person than Gideon Hayle entered the room.



CHAPTER IX

At the moment that I saw Hayle enter my room, you might, as the saying goes, have knocked me down with a feather. Of all that could possibly have happened, this was surely the most unexpected! The man had endeavoured to get me out of his way in London, he had played all sorts of tricks upon me in order to put me off the scent, he had bolted from England because he knew I was searching for him, yet here he was deliberately seeking me out, and of his own free will putting his head into the lion's mouth. It was as astounding as it was inexplicable.

"Good morning, Mr. Fairfax," he said, bowing most politely to me as he spoke. "I hope you will forgive this early call. I only discovered your address an hour ago, and as I did not wish to run the risk of losing you I came on at once."

"You appeared to be fairly desirous of doing so last week," I said. "What has occurred to make you change your mind so suddenly?"

"A variety of circumstances have conspired to bring such a result about," he answered. "I have been thinking the matter over, and not being able to determine the benefit of this hole-and-corner sort of game, I have made up my mind to settle it once and for all."

"I am glad you have come to that way of thinking," I said. "It will save us both an infinity of trouble. You understand, of course, that I represent Messrs. Kitwater and Codd."

"I am well aware of it," he replied, "and in common fairness to yourself, I can only say that I am sorry to hear it."

"May I ask why you are sorry?"

"Because you have the honour to represent the biggest pair of scoundrels unhung," he answered. "And in saying this, I pledge you my word that I am by no means overstepping the mark. I have known them both for a great many years and can therefore speak from experience."

Before going further with him I was desirous of convincing myself upon one point.

"You knew them, then, when they were missionaries in China, I suppose?"

"That's the first time I have ever heard what they were," he replied. "Kitwater a missionary! You must forgive my laughing, but the idea is too ludicrous. I'll admit he's done a considerable amount of converting, but it has been converting other people's money into his own pockets."

He laughed at his own bad joke, and almost instantly grew serious once more. He was quite at his ease, and, though he must have known that I was familiar with the story, or supposed story of his villainy, seemed in no way ashamed.

"Now, Mr. Fairfax," he went on, "I know that you are surprised to see me this morning, but I don't think you will be when we have had a little talk together. First and foremost you have been told the story of the stones I possess?"

"I have heard Mr. Kitwater's version of it," I answered cautiously. "I know that you robbed my clients of them and then disappeared!"

"I did not rob them of the stones," he said, not in the least offended by the bluntness of my speech. "It is plain that you do not know how we obtained them. Perhaps it's as well that you should not, for there's more behind, and you'd go and get them. No! We obtained them honestly enough at a certain place, and I was appointed to carry them. For this reason I secured them in a belt about my waist. That night the Chinese came down upon us and made us prisoners. They murdered our two native servants, blinded Kitwater, and cut out Codd's tongue. I alone managed to effect my escape. Leaving my two companions for dead, I managed to get away into the jungle. Good Heavens! man, you can't imagine what I suffered after that."

I looked at him and saw that his face had grown pale at the mere recollection of his experiences.

"At last I reached the British outpost of Nampoung, on the Burmah-Chinese border, where the officers took me in and played the part of the good Samaritan. When I was well enough to travel, I made my way down to Rangoon, where, still believing my late companions to be dead, I shipped for England."

"As Mr. George Bertram," I said quietly. "Why under an assumed name when, according to your story, you had nothing to fear?"

"Because I had good and sufficient reason for so doing," he replied. "You must remember that I had a quarter of a million's worth of precious stones in my possession, and, well, to put it bluntly, up to that time I had been living what you might call a make-shift sort of life. For the future I told myself I was going to be a rich man. That being so I wanted to start with a clean sheet. You can scarcely blame me!"

I did not answer him on this point, but continued my cross-examination.

"You reached London, and sold some of the stones there, later on you disposed of some more in Amsterdam. Why did you refuse the dealers your name and address?"

Once more he was quite equal to the occasion.

"Because if I had told them, everybody would have got to know it, and, to be perfectly frank with you, I could not feel quite certain that Kitwater and Codd were really dead."

"By that I am to presume that you intended if possible to swindle them out of their share?" I asked, not a little surprised by his admission.

"Once more, to be quite frank with you, I did. I have no desire to be rude, but I rather fancy you would have done the same had you been similarly situated. I never was much of a success in the moral business."

I could well believe this, but I did not tell him so.

"When did you first become aware that they were in London?"

"On the day that they landed," he answered. "I watched every ship that came in from Rangoon, and at last had the doubtful satisfaction of seeing my two old friends pass out of the dock-gates. Poor beggars, they had indeed had a hard time of it."

"Then you could pity them? Even while you were robbing them?"

"Why not," he answered. "There was no reason because I had the stones that I should not feel sorry for the pain they had suffered. I had to remember how near I'd been to it myself."

This speech sounded very pretty though somewhat illogical.

"And pray how did you know that they had called in my assistance?"

"Because I kept my eyes on them. I know Mr. Kitwater of old, you see. I watched them go into your office and come out from a shop on the other side of the street."

The whole mystery was now explained. What an amount of trouble I should have been spared had I only known this before?

"You did not approve then of my being imported into the case?"

"I distinctly disapproved," he answered. "I know your reputation, of course, and I began to see that if you took up their case for them I should in all probability have to climb down."

"It is doubtless for that reason you called upon me, representing yourself to be Mr. Bayley, Managing Director of that South American Mining Company? I can now quite understand your motive. You wanted to get me out of the way in order that I might not hunt you? Is that not so?"

"You hit the nail upon the head exactly. But you were virtuous, and would not swallow the bait. It would have simplified matters from my point of view if you had. I should not have been compelled to waste my money upon those two roughs, nor would you have spent an exceedingly uncomfortable quarter of an hour in that doorway in Holywell street."

This was news indeed. So he had been aware of my presence there? I put the question to him.

"Oh! Yes! I knew you were there," he said with a laugh. "And I can tell you I did not like the situation one bit. As a matter of fact I found that it required all my nerve to pretend that I did not know it. Every moment I expected you to come out and speak to me. I can assure you the failure of my plot was no end of a disappointment to me. I had expected to see the men I had sent after you, and instead I found you myself."

"Upon my word, Mr. Hayle, if I cannot appreciate your actions I must say I admire your candour. I can also add that in a fairly long experience of—of——"

"Why not say of criminals at once, Mr. Fairfax?" he asked with a smile. "I assure you I shall not be offended. We have both our own views on this question, and you of course are entitled to air yours if it pleases you. You were about to observe that——"

"That in all my experience I had never met any one who could so calmly own to an attempt to murder a fellow-being. But supposing we now come to business."

"With all my heart," he answered. "I am as anxious as yourself to get everything settled. You will admit that it is rather hard lines on a man who can lay his hands upon a quarter of a million of money, to have a gentleman like yourself upon his trail, and, instead of being able to enjoy himself, to be compelled to remain continually in hiding. I am an individual who likes to make the most of his life. I also enjoy the society of my fellow-men."

"May we not substitute 'woman'?" I asked. "I am afraid your quarter of a million would not last very long if you had much to do with Mademoiselle Beaumarais."

"So you have heard of her, have you?" he answered. "But you need have no fear. Dog does not eat dog, and that charming lady will not despoil me of very much! Now to another matter! What amount do you think your clients would feel inclined to take in full settlement of their claim upon me?"

"I cannot say," I answered. "How many of the gems have you realized upon?"

"There were ninety-three originally," he said when he had consulted his pocket-book, "and I have sold sixty, which leaves a balance of thirty-three, all of which are better than any I have yet disposed of. Will your clients be prepared to accept fifty thousand pounds, of course, given without prejudice."

"Your generosity amazes me," I answered. "My clients, your partners, are to take twenty-five thousand pounds apiece, while you get off, scot-free, after your treatment of them, with two hundred thousand."

"They may consider themselves lucky to get anything at all," he retorted. "Run your eye over the case, and see how it stands. You must know as well as I do that they haven't a leg to stand upon. If I wanted to be nasty, I should say let them prove that they have a right to the stones. They can't call in the assistance of the law——"

"Why not?"

"Because to get even with me it would be necessary for them to make certain incriminating admissions, and to call certain evidence that would entail caustic remarks from a learned judge, and would not improbably lead to a charge of murder being preferred against them. No, Mr. Fairfax, I know my own business, and, what is better, I know theirs. If they like to take fifty thousand pounds, and will retire into obscurity upon it, I will pay it to them, always through you. But I won't see either of them, and I won't pay a halfpenny more than I have offered."

"You don't mean to tell me that you are in earnest?"

"I am quite in earnest," he answered. "I never was more so. Will you place my offer before them, or will you not?"

"I will write and also wire them to-day," I said. "But I think I know exactly what they will say."

"Point out the applicability of the moral concerning the bird in the hand. If they don't take what they can get now, the time may come when there may be nothing at all. I never was a very patient man, and I can assure you most confidentially, that I am about tired of this game."

"But how am I to know that this is not another trick on your part, and that you won't be clearing out of Paris within a few hours? I should present a sorry picture if my clients were to accept your generous offer, and I had to inform them that you were not on hand to back it up."

"Oh, you needn't be afraid about that," he said with a laugh. "I am not going to bilk you. Provided you play fair by me, I will guarantee to do the same by you. With the advantages I at present enjoy, I am naturally most anxious to know that I can move about Europe unmolested. Besides, you can have me watched, and so make sure of me. There is that beautiful myrmidon of yours, who is so assiduously making love to Mademoiselle Beaumarais's maid. Give him the work."

I was more than surprised to find that he knew about this business. He saw it, and uttered one of his peculiar laughs.

"He didn't think I knew it," he said. "But I did! His cleverness is a little too marked. He overacts his parts, and even Shakespeare will tell you how foolish a proceeding that is. If you doubt my word concerning my stay in Paris, let him continue to watch me. You know where I am living, and for that reason you can come and see me whenever you like. As a proof of my sincerity, may I suggest that you give me the pleasure of your company at dinner to-night. Oh, you needn't be afraid. I'm not a Caesar Borgia. I shall not poison your meat, and your wine will not be drugged. It will be rather a unique experience, detective and criminal dining together, will it not? What do you say?"

The opportunity was so novel, that I decided to embrace it. Why should I not do so since it was a very good excuse for keeping my man in sight? He could scarcely play me any tricks at a fashionable restaurant, and I was certainly curious to study another side of this man's complex character. I accordingly accepted his invitation, and promised to meet him at the well-known restaurant he named that evening.

"In the meantime you will telegraph to your clients, I suppose," he said. "You may be able to give me their reply this evening when we meet."

"I shall hope to be in a position to do so," I answered, after which he bade me good-bye, and picking up his hat and stick left the room.

"Well," I said to myself when I was alone once more, "this is the most extraordinary case upon which I have ever been engaged. My respect for Mr. Hayle's readiness of resource, to say nothing of his impudence, is increasing by leaps and bounds. The man is not to be met every day who can rob his partners of upwards of a hundred and seventy thousand pounds, and then invite the detective who is sent after him to a friendly dinner."

I sat down and wrote a letter to Miss Kitwater, telling her all that had occurred; then went out to despatch it with a telegram to Kitwater himself, informing him of the offer Hayle had made. I could guess the paroxysm of rage into which it would throw him, and I would willingly have spared his niece the pain such an exhibition must cause her. I could see no other way out of it, however. The message having been despatched, I settled myself down to wait for a reply, with all the patience I could command. In my own mind I knew very well what it would be. It was not so much the money that Kitwater wanted, as revenge. That Hayle's most miserable offer would only increase his desire for it, I felt certain. Shortly after three o'clock, the reply arrived. It was short, and to the point, and ran as follows—

"Tell him I will have all or nothing."

Here was a nice position for a man to find himself in. Instead of solving the difficulty we had only increased it. I wondered what Hayle would say when he heard the news, and what his next step would be. That he would endeavour to bolt again, I felt quite certain. It was a point in my favour, however, that he would not know until the evening what Kitwater's decision was, so I felt I had still some time to arrange my plan of action. Of one thing I was quite determined, and that was that he should be watched day and night from that minute, but not by Mr. Dickson. That worthy I bade return to England, and his rage on discovering that Mademoiselle Beaumarais's maid had tricked him, would have been amusing to witness, had the principal event in which I was most concerned not been so grave. The expressions he used about her were certainly far from being complimentary.

Feeling that I must have other assistance, I set off for my friend Leglosse's residence. I had the good fortune to meet him by the concierge's lodge, and we ascended the stairs to his rooms together.

"I have come to ask you to do me a favour," I said, when we were seated in his sitting-room.

"A thousand favours if you wish, cher ami," the old fellow replied. "Tell me how I can have the pleasure of serving you."

"I want you to lend me one of your men for a few days," I said. "I have to send my own man back to England, and I am afraid the gentleman we were discussing last night may give me the slip in the meantime if I'm not careful."

The better to enable him to appreciate the position, I furnished him with a brief summary of the case upon which I was engaged.

"And so you are to dine with your prisoner to-night?" he remarked, with one of his quiet chuckles. "That is droll—very droll. It is very good for you that it is at such a place, or I should have my doubts as to the rascal's intentions. But you are well able to take care of yourself, my friend; that I know."

"And the man?"

"You shall have him. You shall have half-a-dozen if you like. I am only too pleased to be able to help in such a good work. You shall have Pierre Lepallard, my right-hand. I cannot give you a better. Nothing escapes Pierre, and he is discreet, oh, yes, my friend, he is discreet. He will not obtrude himself, but he will know all that your friend does, to whom he speaks, what he said to him, and sometimes even what he intends doing before he does it."

"In that case he is just the man for me," I replied. "I am exceedingly obliged to you for your considerate courtesy. Some day I may be able to repay it."

Within half-an-hour the estimable Lepallard had been made acquainted with his duties, and within an hour a ragged tatterdemalion of a man was selling matches on the opposite side of the road to that on which Hayle's apartments were situated.

I reached the restaurant at which we were to dine that evening punctual to the moment, only to find that Hayle had not yet arrived. For a minute I was tempted to wonder whether he had given me the slip again, but while the thought was passing through my mind a cab drove up, and the gentleman himself alighted.

"I must beg your pardon for keeping you waiting," he said apologetically. "As your host I should have been here first. That would have been the case had I not been detained at the last moment by an old friend. Pray forgive me!"

I consented to do so, and we entered the restaurant together.

I discovered that he had already engaged a table, arranged the menu, and bespoken the wines. We accordingly sat down, and the strangest meal of which I had ever partaken commenced. Less than a week before, the man sitting in front of me had endeavoured to bring about my destruction; now he was my host, and to all outward appearances my friend as well. I found him a most agreeable companion, a witty conversationalist, and a born raconteur. He seemed to have visited every part of the known globe; had been a sailor, a revolutionist in South America, a blackbirder in the Pacific, had seen something of what he called the "Pig-tail trade" to Borneo, some very queer life in India, that is to say, in the comparatively unknown native states and had come within an ace of having been shot by the French during the war in Madagascar.

"In point of fact," he said, "I may say that I have travelled from Dan to Beersheba, and, until I struck this present vein of good fortune, had found all barren. Some day, if I can summon up sufficient courage, I shall fit out an expedition and return to the place whence the stones came, and get some more, but not just at present. Events have been a little too exciting there of late to let us consider it a healthy country. By the way, have you heard from our friend, Kitwater, yet?"

"I have," I answered, "and his reply is by no means satisfactory."

"I understand you to mean that he will not entertain my offer?"

I nodded my head.

"He must have 'all or nothing,' he declares. That is the wording of the telegram I received."

"Well, he knows his own affairs best. The difference is a large one, and will materially affect his income. Will you take Creme de Minthe—Kuemmel or Cognac?"

"Cognac, thank you," I replied, and that was the end of the matter.

During the remainder of the evening not another word was said upon the subject. We chatted upon a variety of topics, but neither the matter of the precious stones nor even Kitwater's name was once mentioned. I could not help fancying, however, that the man was considerably disappointed at the non-acceptance of his preposterous offer. He had made a move on the board, and had lost it. I knew him well enough, however, by this time to feel sure that he by no means despaired yet of winning the game. Men of Gideon Hayle's stamp are hard to beat.

"Now," he said, when we had smoked our cigarettes, and after he had consulted his watch, "The night is still young. What do you say if we pay a visit to a theatre—the Hippodrome, for instance. We might wile away an hour there very pleasantly if you feel so disposed."

I willingly consented, and we accordingly left the restaurant. Once we were in the street Hayle called a cab, gave the man his instructions, and we entered it. Chatting pleasantly, and still smoking, we passed along the brilliantly illuminated Boulevards. I bestowed little, if any, attention on the direction in which we were proceeding. Indeed, it would have been difficult to have done so for never during the evening had Hayle been so agreeable. A more charming companion no man could have desired. It was only on chancing to look out of the window that that I discovered that we were no longer in the gaily-lighted thoroughfares, but were entering another and dingier part of the town.

"What is the matter with the driver?" I asked. "Doesn't he know what he is about? This is not the way to the Hippodrome! He must have misunderstood what you said to him. Shall I hail him and point out his mistake?"

"No, I don't think it is necessary for you to do that," he replied. "Doubtless he will be on the right track in a few minutes. He probably thinks if he gives us a longer ride, he will be able to charge a proportionately larger fare at the end. The Parisian cabby is very like his London brother."

He then proceeded to describe to me an exceedingly funny adventure that had fallen him once in Chicago. The recital lasted some minutes, and all the time we were still pursuing our way in a direction exactly opposite to that which I knew we should be following. At last I could stand it no longer.

"The man's obviously an idiot," I said, "and I am going to tell him so."

"I shouldn't do that, Mr. Fairfax," said Hayle in a different voice to that in which he had previously addressed me. "I had my own reasons for not telling you before, but the matter has already been arranged. The man is only carrying out his instructions."

"What do you mean by already arranged?" I asked, not without some alarm.

"I mean that you are my prisoner, Mr. Fairfax," he said. "You see, you are rather a difficult person to deal with, if I must pay you such a compliment, and one has to adopt heroic measures in order to cope with you."

"Then you've been humbugging me all this time," I cried; "but you've let the cat out of the bag a little too soon. I think I'll bid you good-bye."

I was about to rise from my seat and open the door, but he stopped me. In his hand he held a revolver, the muzzle of which was in unpleasant proximity to my head.



"I must ask you to be good enough to sit down," he said. "You had better do so, for you cannot help yourself. If you attempt to make a fuss I pledge you my word I shall shoot you, let the consequences to myself be what they may. You know me, and you can see that I am desperate. My offer to those men was only a bluff. I wanted to quiet any suspicions you might have in order that I might get you into my hands. As you can see for yourself, I could not have succeeded better than I have done. I give you my word that you shall not be hurt, provided that you do not attempt to escape or to call for help. If you do, then you know exactly what you may expect, and you will have only yourself to blame. Be a sensible man, and give in to the inevitable."

He held too many cards for me. I could see at a glance that I was out-manoeuvred, and that there was nothing to be gained by a struggle. I don't think I can be accused of cowardice; my reputation is too well known for that. But I do decidedly object to being shot by a desperate man, when there is not the least necessity for it.

"Very well," I said, lying back in my seat, "you have played your game with your usual cleverness, and I suppose I deserve what I have got for having been such a consummate idiot as to give you the opportunity you wanted. Now, what are you going to do, and where are you going to take me?"

"You will know everything in a few minutes," he answered. "In the meantime I am glad to see that you take things so sensibly. In after days you will laugh over this little incident."

"Whatever I may think in the future," I replied, "just at present it is confoundedly unpleasant."

Ten minutes later the cab came to a standstill, there was the sound of opening gates, and a moment later we drove into a stone-paved courtyard.



CHAPTER X

If you could have travelled the world at that moment, from north to south, and from east to west, I believe you would have found it difficult to discover a man who felt as foolish as I did when I entered the gloomy dwelling-place as Hayle's prisoner. To say that I was mortified by the advantage he had obtained over me would not express my feelings in the least. To think that I, George Fairfax, who had the reputation of being so difficult a man to trick, should have allowed myself to fall into such a palpable trap, seemed sufficiently incredible as to be almost a matter for laughter rather than rage. There was worse, however, behind. Miss Kitwater had been so trustful of my capability for bringing the matter to a successful conclusion, that I dared not imagine what she would think of me now. Whichever way I looked at it, it was obvious that Hayle must score. On the one side, he kept me locked up while he not only made his escape from Paris, but by so doing cut off every chance of my pursuing him afterwards; on the other, he might console himself with the almost certain knowledge that I should be discredited by those who had put their trust in me. How could it very well be otherwise? I had committed the criminal folly of accepting hospitality from the enemy, and from that moment I should not be seen. The natural supposition would be that I had been bought, and that I was not only taking no further interest in the case, but that I was keeping out of the way of those who did. To add to my misery, I could easily imagine the laugh that would go up on the other side of the Channel when the trick that had been played upon me became known. But having so much else to think of, that fact, you may be sure, did not trouble me very much. There were two things, however, about which I was particularly anxious; one was to set myself right with Miss Kitwater, and the other was to get even, at any cost, with Hayle. The first seemed the more difficult.

It must not be supposed that when I had alighted from the carriage I had given up all hope of escape. On the contrary, had it not been for the presence of three burly fellows, who immediately took up their places beside me, I fancy I should have made a dash for liberty. Under the circumstances, however, to have attempted such a thing would have been the height of folly. Five to one, that is to say, if I include the coachman in the number, with the gates closed behind me, were too long odds, and however hard I might have fought, I could not possibly have been successful.

"Perhaps you will be kind enough to step into the house," said Hayle. "The air is cold out here, and I am afraid lest you might take a chill."

Before complying with his order I looked round me once more to see if there was any chance of escape. But so far as I could see there was not one. I accordingly followed one of my captors into the building, the remainder bringing up the rear.

From what I could see of the house with the help of the light from a solitary candle hanging in a sconce upon the wall, it had once been a handsome building. Now, however, it had fallen sadly to decay. The ceiling of the hall had at one time been richly painted, but now only blurred traces of the design remained. Crossing the hall, my guide opened a door at the further end. In obedience to a request from Hayle, I entered this room, to find myself standing in a fine apartment, so far as size went, but sadly lacking in comfort where its furniture was concerned. There was a bed, a table, three rough chairs, and an entirely inadequate square of carpet upon the floor. I have already said that it was a large room, and when I add that it was lighted only by two candles, which stood upon the table in the centre, some idea will be afforded of its general dreariness.

"Now look here, Mr. Hayle," I said, "the time has come for us to have a serious talk together. You know as well as I do that in kidnapping me you are laying yourself open to very serious consequences. If you think that by so doing you are going to prevent me from eventually running you to earth, you are very much mistaken. You have obtained a temporary advantage over me, I will admit; but that advantage will not last. Do not flatter yourself that it will."

"I am not so sure upon that point," said Hayle, lighting a cigarette as he spoke. "If I did not think so I should not have gone to all this trouble and expense. But why make such a fuss about it? You must surely understand, Mr. Fairfax, that your profession necessarily entails risks. This is one of them. You have been paid to become my enemy. I had no personal quarrel with you. You can scarcely blame me, therefore, if I retaliate when I have an opportunity. I don't know what you may think of it, but the mere fact of you dining with me to-night is very likely to go hard with you, so far as your clients are concerned. Would it be a good advertisement for the famous George Fairfax to have it known that, while he was taking his clients' money he was dining pleasantly in Paris with the man they were paying him to find? I laid my trap for you, but I must confess that I had not very much faith in its success. Your experience should have made you more wary. A student of human character, such as you are, should know that the leopard cannot change his spots, or the tiger his——"

"If you continue in this strain much longer," I said, "I'll endeavour to stop your tongue, whatever it may cost me. Now, either let me out, or get out of the room yourself. I want to see no more of you while I am in this house."

He blew a cloud of smoke, and then said nonchalantly—

"You had better occupy yourself thanking your stars that you are let off so easily. At one time I was tempted to have you put out of the way altogether. I am not quite certain it wouldn't be safer, even now. It could be done so easily, and no one would be any the wiser. I know two men now in Paris who would gladly run the risk for the sake of the ill-will they bear you. I must think it over."

"Then think it over on the other side of that door," I said angrily. "Play the same traitorous trick on me as you did on Kitwater and Codd if you like, but you shall not stay in the same room with me now."

My reference to Kitwater and Codd must have touched him on a raw spot, for he winced, and then tried to bluff it off.

"I rather fancy Messrs. Kitwater and Codd will just have such kindly things to say concerning you in the future as they do about me now," he said, as he moved towards the door. "And now I will wish you good-bye. As I leave Paris almost immediately, I don't suppose I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again. For your own sake I should advise you to be quiet. I might tell you once and for all that you can't get out. The door is a stout one, and the windows are exceptionally well barred. The men to whom I have assigned the duty of looking after you are in their way honest, though a little rough. Moreover, they are aware that their own safety depends to a very great extent upon your not getting out. Believe me, if you do not know already, that there is nothing like fear for making a good watch-dog. Farewell, friend Fairfax! You have been instrumental in sending a good many men into durance vile; you can tell me later how you like being there yourself."

With that he went out, shutting the door behind him. I heard the key turn in the lock, and a bolt shot at top and bottom. I thereupon went to the window and examined it, only to discover that it was made secure on the outside by large iron bars. So far as I could see, there was no other way of escape from the room.

Though I laid down on the bed I did not sleep; my thoughts would not permit of that. The face of the woman who had trusted me so profoundly was before me continually, gazing at me with sweet reproachful eyes. Oh! what a fool I had been to accept that rascal's invitation! The more I thought of it, the angrier I became with myself. Now, goodness only knew how long I should be confined in this wretched place, and what would happen during my absence from the world!

At last the dawn broke, and with it, a weird sickly light penetrated the room. I sprang from my bed and approached the window, only to find that it overlooked a small courtyard, the latter being stoneflagged and surrounded by high walls. I could see that, even if I were able to squeeze my way out between the bars, I should be powerless to scale the walls. At a rough guess these were at least twelve feet high, and without a foothold of any sort or description. This being so I was completely at the mercy of the men in the house. Indeed, a rat caught in a trap, was never more firmly laid by the heels than I. At about half-past seven o'clock a small trap-door, which I had not noticed near the ground and the main door, was opened, and a grimy hand made its way in and placed upon the floor a cup of coffee and a roll. Then it was closed once more and made secure. I drank the coffee and munched the roll, and, if the truth must be confessed, poor as they were felt the better for both.

At mid-day a bowl of miserable soup was handed in; darkness, however, had fallen some considerable time before I could detect any sound in the hall outside that might be taken to mean the coming of my evening meal. At last there was a clatter of feet, the bolts shot back, the key turned in the lock, and the door opened. A man carrying a lantern entered, followed by two others, and as the light fell upon his face, I uttered a cry of astonishment, for he was none other than my old friend Leglosse, while behind him was the infallible Lepallard.

"Well, thank goodness we have found you at last," cried Leglosse. "We have had such a hunt for you as man never dreamed of. I called at your apartments late last night, hoping to see you, on important business, but you had not returned from a dinner to which you had been invited. I called again this morning and was informed by the concierge that they had, up to that moment, seen nothing of you. When the good Lepallard informed me that you had left the restaurant in a cab with Monsieur Hayle, and that the latter had returned to his apartments this morning in a great hurry, only to leave them a short time after with his luggage, for the railway station, I began to grow uneasy. You have no idea what a day I have had looking for you, but it has been well spent, since we have the pleasure of seeing you again."

"I shall be grateful to you all my life for the service you have rendered me," I replied. "But how did you manage to gain admittance to this house?"

"It was quite easy; the birds had flown," he answered. "Has the suspicion not struck you that they were going to clear out and leave you here to starve?"

"The brutes," I answered. "But I'll be even with their leader yet. And now let us get away from here as quickly as possible. Have you any idea where our man has gone?"

"To Naples," Lepallard replied. "I disguised myself as a pompous old bourgeois, and I was behind him when he asked for his ticket and distinctly heard what he said."

"Then I shall go after him at once," I replied. "He will in all probability be off his guard. He will imagine me to be still locked up in this room, you see."

"And I shall accompany you, if you will permit me," said Leglosse.

"But why?" I asked in surprise. "What have you got to do with him? You have no case against him, and you cannot spare the time to do it simply out of kindness to me."

"It's not kindness, it's business, my friend," he replied. "You may not believe it, but I have a warrant for your man's arrest."

"On what charge?"

"On a charge of being concerned in a big embezzlement in Cochin China," he answered. "We laid the other two men by the heels at the time, but the Englishman, who was the prime mover in it, we have never been able to lay our hands upon. I felt certain that day when I met him in Amsterdam, that I had seen him somewhere before. Ever since then I have been puzzling my brains to discover where it was, and why it was so familiar to me. A photograph was eventually sent us of the Englishman by the colonial authorities, but in that photograph he, the person I suspect, wears a beard and a heavy moustache. It is the same man, however, and the description, even to the mark upon the face, exactly tallies with Hayle. Now I think I can help you to obtain a rather unique revenge upon the man, that is to say, if you want it. From what you have so far told me, I understand that you have no evidence against him strong enough to justify the issue of a warrant. Well, I have that evidence, and between us you may be sure we'll bring him back to Paris."

This was delightful hearing after all we had been through lately; at any rate I greeted the prospect of Leglosse's co-operation with acclamation. It would be hard, if between us we could not find Hayle and bring him to the justice he so richly deserved.

"Now let us get out of this," I said. "I must obtain something to eat if I perish in the attempt. I am well nigh starving. A basin of soup, a roll and a cup of coffee, are all that I have had to-day."

"You shall dine at once," he answered, "and here. There is an excellent little restaurant further down the street, and one of my men shall go there and tell them to bring you up a meal. After that you shall go home and change your costume, and then we will arrange what shall be done about the travelling."

This programme was carried out to the letter. We made a good meal, at least I know that I did, and when it was eaten, a cab was procured, and in company with Leglosse I said good-bye to the house in which I had spent so short a time, yet in which I had been so miserable.

"I shall never know how to repay you for your kindness," I said to my companion as we drove down the street. "Had it not been for you and your men I should now be starving in that wretched place. I'll certainly forgive Hayle if he is ever successful enough to take me in again by one of his rascally tricks."

"You must not let him do that," returned the Frenchman, shaking his head. "Our reputations are at stake."

When I reached my own apartments the concierge was much relieved to see me. She had been told that I was dead, perhaps murdered, and Leglosse's visit to find me had not helped to reassure her. A packet of letters and telegrams was handed to me, which I carried up to my room, to read them while I was changing my attire. Never before had I been so glad to get out of a dress-suit.

I had just finished my toilet and was in the act of commencing the packing of the bag I intended taking with me, when there was a tap at the door. I opened it, to find the concierge there.

"There is a lady in the parlor to see Monsieur," she said. "She has a maid with her."

"A lady to see me?" I asked incredulously. "Who on earth can she be?"

The concierge shook her head. In my own mind I had arrived at the conclusion that it was Mademoiselle Beaumarais, and that Hayle had sent her to discover, if possible, whether I had escaped from my confinement or not. On finding out that I had she would telegraph to him, and once more he would be placed on his guard. At first I felt almost inclined not to see her, but on second thoughts I saw the folly of this proceeding. I accordingly entered the room where the lady was awaiting me. The light was not very good, but it was sufficient for me to see two figures standing by the window.

"To what am I indebted for the honour of this visit, mademoiselles?" I began.

"Don't you know me, Mr. Fairfax?" the taller of them answered. "You forget your friends very quickly."

"Miss Kitwater?" I cried, "what does this mean?"

"It is a long story," she answered, "but I feel sure that you will have time to hear it now. I am in terrible trouble."

"I am indeed sorry to hear that," I answered, and then glanced at her maid as if to inquire whether it was safe to speak before her. She interpreted the look correctly and nodded her head.

"Yes, Mr. Fairfax," she said, "you can say what you please before Nelly."

"Then am I right in interpreting your trouble as being connected with your uncle?" I asked.

"Yes, that is it," she answered. "You have guessed correctly. Do you know that he and Mr. Codd have disappeared?"

"Disappeared?" I repeated. "Have you any idea where they have disappeared to?"

"No, but I can hazard a very shrewd guess," she replied. "I believe they have crossed to Paris in search of Mr. Hayle. Since last Sunday my uncle had been more depressed than ever, while the paroxysms of rage to which he is so subject, have been even more frequent than ever. If the truth must be told, I fear his troubles have turned his brain, for he talks to himself in such a queer way, and asks every few minutes if I have received news from you, that I cannot help thinking his mind is not what it should be. You must understand that on Saturday last, thinking it might possibly be required for the case, I drew a large sum of money from the bank; more than a hundred pounds, in fact. I securely locked it up in my writing-table, and thought no one knew anything about it. Yesterday afternoon my uncle and Mr. Codd went for a walk, and did not return, though I waited for them for several hours. While I was thus waiting I opened the drawer in the writing-table to procure something I wanted, and discovered that the money was missing. Only one construction could be placed upon it, Mr. Fairfax. They had wearied of their inactive life, and had set off in search of Hayle."

"They are aware of his address in Paris, are they not?"

"Yes, my uncle repeated it from morning until night," she answered. "In point of fact, he did little else. Oh! it terrifies me beyond measure to think what may happen should they meet."

"You need not fear that," I replied. "Hayle has tired of Paris and has bolted again. Very probably to a place where they cannot hope to find him."