THE LONE WOLF

 By LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE

 1914

 CONTENTS

 I. TROYON'S

 II. RETURN

 III. A POINT OF INTERROGATION

 IV. A STRATAGEM

 V. ANTICLIMAX

 VI. THE PACK GIVES TONGUE

 VII. L'ABBAYE

 VIII. THE HIGH HAND

 IX. DISASTER

 X. TURN ABOUT

 XI. FLIGHT

 XII. AWAKENING

 XIII. CONFESSIONAL

 XIV. RIVE DROIT

 XV. SHEER IMPUDENCE

 XVI. RESTITUTION

 XVII. THE FORLORN HOPE

 XVIII. ENIGMA

 XIX. UNMASKED

 XX. WAR

 XXI. APOSTATE

 XXII. TRAPPED

 XXIII. MADAME OMBER

 XXIV. RENDEZVOUS

 XXV. WINGS OF THE MORNING

 XXVI. THE FLYING DEATH

 XXVII. DAYBREAK

THE LONE WOLF

I

TROYON'S

It must have been Bourke who first said that even if you knew your wayabout Paris you had to lose it in order to find it to Troyon's. Butthen Bourke was proud to be Irish. 

Troyon's occupied a corner in a jungle of side-streets, well withdrawnfrom the bustle of the adjacent boulevards of St. Germain and St. Michel, and in its day was a restaurant famous with a fame jealouslyguarded by a select circle of patrons. Its cooking was the best inParis, its cellar second to none, its rates ridiculously reasonable;yet Baedeker knew it not. And in the wisdom of the cognoscenti thiswas well: it had been a pity to loose upon so excellent anestablishment the swarms of tourists that profaned every temple ofgastronomy on the Rive Droit. 

The building was of three storeys, painted a dingy drab and trimmedwith dull green shutters. The restaurant occupied almost all of thestreet front of the ground floor, a blank, non-committal double doorwayat one extreme of its plate-glass windows was seldom open and even moreseldom noticed. 

This doorway was squat and broad and closed the mouth of a wide, stone-walled passageway. In one of its two substantial wings of oak asmaller door had been cut for the convenience of Troyon's guests, whoby this route gained the courtyard, a semi-roofed and shadowy place, cool on the hottest day. From the court a staircase, with an air ofleading nowhere in particular, climbed lazily to the second storey andthereby justified its modest pretensions; for the two upper floors ofTroyon's might have been plotted by a nightmare-ridden architect afterwitnessing one of the first of the Palais Royal farces. 

Above stairs, a mediaeval maze of corridors long and short, complicatedby many unexpected steps and staircases and turns and enigmatic doors, ran every-which-way and as a rule landed one in the wrong room, linkingtogether, in all, some two-score bed-chambers. There were no salons orreception-rooms, there was never a bath-room, there wasn't even runningwater aside from two hallway taps, one to each storey. The honouredguest and the exacting went to bed by lamplight: others put up withcandlesticks: gas burned only in the corridors and the restaurant--asthmatic jets that, spluttering blue within globes obese, semi-opaque, and yellowish, went well with furnishings and decorations of the SecondEmpire to which years had lent a mellow and somehow rakish dinginess;since nothing was ever refurbished. 

With such accommodations the guests of Troyon's were well content. Theywere not many, to begin with, and they were almost all middle-agedbourgeois, a caste that resents innovations. They took Troyon's as theyfound it: the rooms suited them admirably, and the tariff was modest. Why do anything to disturb the perennial peace of so discreet andconfidential an establishment? One did much as one pleased there, providing one's bill was paid with tolerable regularity and the handkept supple that operated the cordon in the small hours of the night. Papa Troyon came from a tribe of inn-keepers and was liberal-minded;while as for Madame his wife, she cared for nothing but pieces ofgold.... 

To Troyon's on a wet winter night in the year 1893 came the child whoas a man was to call himself Michael Lanyard. 

He must have been four or five years old at that time: an age at whichconsciousness is just beginning to recognize its individuality andmemory registers with capricious irregularity. He arrived at the hotelin a state of excitement involving an almost abnormal sensitiveness toimpressions; but that was soon drowned deep in dreamless slumbers ofhealthy exhaustion; and when he came to look back through a haze ofdays, of which each had made its separate and imperative demand uponhis budding emotions, he found his store of memories strangely dulledand disarticulate. 

The earliest definite picture was that of himself, a small but vastlyimportant figure, nursing a heavy heart in a dark corner of a fiacre. Beside him sat a man who swore fretfully into his moustache wheneverthe whimpering of the boy threatened to develop into honest bawls: astrange creature, with pockets full of candy and a way with little boysin public surly and domineering, in private timid and propitiatory. Itwas raining monotonously, with that melancholy persistence which is thegenius of Parisian winters; and the paving of the interminable strangestreets was as black glass shot with coloured lights. Some of thestreets roared like famished beasts, others again were silent, if witha silence no less sinister. The rain made incessant crepitation on theroof of the fiacre, and the windows wept without respite. Within thecab a smell of mustiness contended feebly with the sickening reek of acigar which the man was forever relighting and which as often turnedcold between his teeth. Outside, unwearying hoofs were beating theirdeadly rhythm, _cloppetty-clop_.... 

Back of all this lurked something formlessly alluring, something sadand sweet and momentous, which belonged very personally to the childbut which he could never realize. Memory crept blindly toward it overa sword-wide bridge that had no end. There had been (or the boy haddreamed it) a long, weariful journey by railroad, the sequel to one byboat more brief but wholly loathsome. Beyond this point memory failedthough sick with yearning. And the child gave over his instinctive butrather inconsecutive efforts to retrace his history: his daily life atTroyon's furnished compelling and obliterating interests. 

Madame saw to that. 

It was Madame who took charge of him when the strange man dragged himcrying from the cab, through a cold, damp place gloomy with shadows, and up stairs to a warm bright bedroom: a formidable body, this Madame, with cold eyes and many hairy moles, who made odd noises in her throatwhile she undressed the little boy with the man standing by, noisesmeant to sound compassionate and maternal but, to the child at least, hopelessly otherwise. 

Then drowsiness stealing upon one over a pillow wet with tears ... Oblivion.... 

And Madame it was who ruled with iron hand the strangenew world to which the boy awakened. 

The man was gone by morning, and the child never saw him again; butinasmuch as those about him understood no English and he no French, it was some time before he could grasp the false assurances of Madamethat his father had gone on a journey but would presently return. Thechild knew positively that the man was not his father, but when he wasable to make this correction the matter had faded into insignificance:life had become too painful to leave time or inclination for theadjustment of such minor and incidental questions as one's parentage. 

The little boy soon learned to know himself as Marcel, which wasn't hisname, and before long was unaware he had ever had another. As he grewolder he passed as Marcel Troyon; but by then he had forgotten how tospeak English. 

A few days after his arrival the warm, bright bed-chamber was exchangedfor a cold dark closet opening off Madame's boudoir, a cupboardfurnished with a rickety cot and a broken chair, lacking any provisionfor heat or light, and ventilated solely by a transom over the door;and inasmuch as Madame shared the French horror of draughts and so kepther boudoir hermetically sealed nine months of the year, the transomdidn't mend matters much. But that closet formed the boy's sole refuge, if a precarious one, through several years; there alone was he eversafe from kicks and cuffs and scoldings for faults beyond hiscomprehension; but he was never permitted a candle, and the darknessand loneliness made the place one of haunted terror to the sensitiveand imaginative nature of a growing child. 

He was, however, never insufficiently fed; and the luxury of forgettingmisery in sleep could not well be denied him. 

By day, until of age to go to school, he played apprehensively in thehallways with makeshift toys, a miserable, dejected little body withhis heart in his mouth at every sudden footfall, very much in the wayof femmes-de-chambre who had nothing in common with the warm-hearted, impulsive, pitiful serving women of fiction. They complained of him toMadame, and Madame came promptly to cuff him. He soon learned an almostuncanny cunning in the art of effacing himself, when she was imminent, to be as still as death and to move with the silence of a wraith. Notinfrequently his huddled immobility in a shadowy corner escaped hernotice as she passed. But it always exasperated her beyond measure tolook up, when she fancied herself alone, and become aware of thewide-eyed, terrified stare of the transfixed boy.... 

That he was privileged to attend school at all was wholly due to agreat fear that obsessed Madame of doing anything to invite theinterest of the authorities. She was an honest woman, according to herlights, an honest wife, and kept an honest house; but she feared thegendarmerie more than the Wrath of God. And by ukase of Government acertain amount of education was compulsory. So Marcel learned amongother things to read, and thereby took his first blind step towardsalvation. 

Reading being the one pastime which could be practiced without making anoise of any sort to attract undesirable attentions, the boy took to itin self-defence. But before long it had become his passion. He read, bystealth, everything that fell into his hands, a weird mélange ofnewspapers, illustrated Parisian weeklies, magazines, novels:cullings from the débris of guest-chambers. 

Before Marcel was eleven he had read "Les Misérables" with intenseappreciation. 

His reading, however, was not long confined to works in the Frenchlanguage. Now and again some departing guest would leave an Englishnovel in his room, and these Marcel treasured beyond all other books;they seemed to him, in a way, part of his birthright. Secretly hecalled himself English in those days, because he knew he wasn't French:that much, at least, he remembered. And he spent long hours poring overthe strange words until; at length, they came to seem less strange inhis eyes. And then some accident threw his way a small English-Frenchdictionary. 

He was able to read English before he could speak it. 

Out of school hours a drudge and scullion, the associate of scullionsand their immediate betters, drawn from that caste of loose tongues andlooser morals which breeds servants for small hotels, Marcel at eleven(as nearly as his age can be computed) possessed a comprehension oflife at once exact, exhaustive and appalling. 

Perhaps it was fortunate that he lived without friendship. His conceptof womanhood was incarnate in Madame Troyon; so he gave all the hotelwomen a wide berth. 

The men-servants he suffered in silence when they would permit it; buthis nature was so thoroughly disassociated from anything within theirexperience that they resented him: a circumstance which exposed him toa certain amount of baiting not unlike that which the village idiotreceives at the hands of rustic boors--until Marcel learned to defendhimself with a tongue which could distil vitriol from the vernacular, and with fists and feet as well. Thereafter he was left severely tohimself and glad of it, since it furnished him with just so much moretime for reading and dreaming over what he read. 

By fifteen he had developed into a long, lank, loutish youth, with aface of extraordinary pallor, a sullen mouth, hot black eyes, and darkhair like a mane, so seldom was it trimmed. He looked considerablyolder than he was and the slightness of his body was deceptive, disguising a power of sinewy strength. More than this, he could carevery handily for himself in a scrimmage: la savate had no secrets fromhim, and he had picked up tricks from the Apaches quite as effectual asany in the manual of jiu-jitsu. Paris he knew as you and I know thepalms of our hands, and he could converse with the precision of thenative-born in any one of the city's several odd argots. 

To these accomplishments he added that of a thoroughly practised pettythief. 

His duties were by day those of valet-de-chambre on the third floor;by night he acted as omnibus in the restaurant. For these services hereceived no pay and less consideration from his employers (who wouldhave been horrified by the suggestion that they countenanced slavery)only his board and a bed in a room scarcely larger, if somewhat betterventilated, than the boudoir-closet from which he had long since beenousted. This room was on the ground floor, at the back of the house, and boasted a small window overlooking a narrow alley. 

He was routed out before daylight, and his working day ended as a ruleat ten in the evening--though when there were performances on at theOdéon, the restaurant remained open until an indeterminate hour for theaccommodation of the supper trade. 

Once back in his kennel, its door closed and bolted, Marcel was free tosquirm out of the window and roam and range Paris at will. And it wasthus that he came by most of his knowledge of the city. 

But for the most part Marcel preferred to lie abed and read himselfhalf-blind by the light of purloined candle-ends. Books he borrowed asof old from the rooms of guests or else pilfered from quai-side stallsand later sold to dealers in more distant quarters of the city. Now andagain, when he needed some work not to be acquired save throughoutright purchase, the guests would pay further if unconscious tributethrough the sly abstraction of small coins. Your true Parisian, however, keeps track of his money to the ultimate sou, an idiosyncrasywhich obliged the boy to practise most of his peculations on thefugitive guest of foreign extraction. 

In the number of these, perhaps the one best known to Troyon's wasBourke. 

He was a quick, compact, dangerous little Irishman who had fallen intothe habit of "resting" at Troyon's whenever a vacation from Londonseemed a prescription apt to prove wholesome for a gentleman of hiskidney; which was rather frequently, arguing that Bourke's professionalactivities were fairly onerous. 

Having received most of his education in Dublin University, Bourkespoke the purest English known, or could when so minded, while hisfacile Irish tongue had caught the trick of an accent which passedunchallenged on the Boulevardes. He had an alert eye for pretty women, a heart as big as all out-doors, no scruples worth mentioning, a secretsorrow, and a pet superstition. 

The colour of his hair, a clamorous red, was the spring of his secretsorrow. By that token he was a marked man. At irregular intervals hemade frantic attempts to disguise it; but the only dye that would serveat all was a jet-black and looked like the devil in contrast with hishigh colouring. Moreover, before a week passed, the red would crop upagain wherever the hair grew thin, lending him the appearance of abadly-singed pup. 

His pet superstition was that, as long as he refrained from practisinghis profession in Paris, Paris would remain his impregnable Tower ofRefuge. The world owed Bourke a living, or he so considered; and it mustbe allowed that he made collections on account with tolerable regularityand success; but Paris was tax-exempt as long as Paris offered himimmunity from molestation. 

Not only did Paris suit his tastes excellently, but there was no place, in Bourke's esteem, comparable with Troyon's for peace and quiet. Hence, the continuity of his patronage was never broken by trials ofrival hostelries; and Troyon's was always expecting Bourke for thesimple reason that he invariably arrived unexpectedly, with neitherwarning nor ostentation, to stop as long as he liked, whether a day ora week or a month, and depart in the same manner. 

His daily routine, as Troyon's came to know it, varied but slightly: hebreakfasted abed, about half after ten, lounged in his room or the caféall day if the weather were bad, or strolled peacefully in the gardensof the Luxembourg if it were good, dined early and well but alwaysalone, and shortly afterward departed by cab for some well-known baron the Rive Droit; whence, it is to be presumed, he moved on to otherresorts, for he never was home when the house was officially closed forthe night, the hours of his return remaining a secret between himselfand the concierge. 

On retiring, Bourke would empty his pockets upon the dressing-table, where the boy Marcel, bringing up Bourke's petit déjeuner the nextmorning, would see displayed a tempting confusion of gold and silverand copper, with a wad of bank-notes, and the customary assortment ofpersonal hardware. 

Now inasmuch as Bourke was never wide-awake at that hour, and alwaysafter acknowledging Marcel's "bon jour" rolled over and snored forGlory and the Saints, it was against human nature to resist the allureof that dressing-table. Marcel seldom departed without a coin or two. 

He had yet to learn that Bourke's habits were those of an Englishman, who never goes to bed without leaving all his pocket-money in plainsight and--carefully catalogued in his memory.... 

One morning in the spring of 1904 Marcel served Bourke his lastbreakfast at Troyon's. 

The Irishman had been on the prowl the previous night, and his raspingsnore was audible even through the closed door when Marcel knocked and, receiving no answer, used the pass-key and entered. 

At this the snore was briefly interrupted; Bourke, visible at firstonly as a flaming shock of hair protruding from the bedclothes, squirmed an eye above his artificial horizon, opened it, mumbledinarticulate acknowledgment of Marcel's salutation, and passedblatantly into further slumbers. 

Marcel deposited his tray on a table beside the bed, moved quietly tothe windows, closed them, and drew the lace curtains together. Thedressing-table between the windows displayed, amid the silver andcopper, more gold coins than it commonly did--some eighteen or twentylouis altogether. Adroitly abstracting en passant a piece of ten francs, Marcel went on his way rejoicing, touched a match to the fire allready-laid in the grate, and was nearing the door when, casting onecasual parting glance at the bed, he became aware of a notablephenomenon: the snoring was going on lustily, but Bourke was watchinghim with both eyes wide and filled with interest. 

Startled and, to tell the truth, a bit indignant, the boy stopped asthough at word of command. But after the first flash of astonishmenthis young face hardened to immobility. Only his eyes remained constantto Bourke's. 

The Irishman, sitting up in bed, demanded and received the piece of tenfrancs, and went on to indict the boy for the embezzlement of severalsums running into a number of louis. 

Marcel, reflecting that Bourke's reckoning was still some louis shy, made no bones about pleading guilty. Interrogated, the culprit deposedthat he had taken the money because he needed it to buy books. No, hewasn't sorry. Yes, it was probable that, granted further opportunity, he would do it again. Advised that he was apparently a case-hardenedyoung criminal, he replied that youth was not his fault; with years andexperience he would certainly improve. 

Puzzled by the boy's attitude, Bourke agitated his hair and wonderedaloud how Marcel would like it if his employers were informed of hispeculations. 

Marcel looked pained and pointed out that such a course on the part ofBourke would be obviously unfair; the only real difference betweenthem, he explained, was that where he filched a louis Bourke filchedthousands; and if Bourke insisted on turning him over to the mercy ofMadame and Papa Troyon, who would certainly summon a sergent de ville, he, Marcel, would be quite justified in retaliating by telling thePréfecture de Police all he knew about Bourke. 

This was no chance shot, and took the Irishman between wind and water;and when, dismayed, he blustered, demanding to know what the boy meantby his damned impudence, Marcel quietly advised him that one knew whatone knew: if one read the English newspaper in the café, as Marcel did, one could hardly fail to remark that monsieur always came to Parisafter some notable burglary had been committed in London; and if onetroubled to follow monsieur by night, as Marcel had, it became evidentthat monsieur's first calls in Paris were invariably made at theestablishment of a famous fence in the rue des Trois Frères; and, finally, one drew one's own conclusions when strangers dining in therestaurant--as on the night before, by way of illustration--strangerswho wore all the hall-marks of police detectives from England--catechisedone about a person whose description was the portrait of Bourke, andpromised a hundred-franc note for information concerning the habits andwhereabouts of that person, if seen. 

Marcel added, while Bourke gasped for breath, that the gentleman inquestion had spoken to him alone, in the absence of other waiters, andhad been fobbed off with a lie. 

But why--Bourke wanted to know--had Marcel lied to save him, when thetruth would have earned him a hundred francs?

"Because, " Marcel explained coolly, "I, too, am a thief. Monsieur willperceive it was a matter of professional honour. "

Now the Irish have their faults, but ingratitude is not of their number. 

Bourke, packing hastily to leave Paris, France and Europe by thefastest feasible route, still found time to question Marcel briefly;and what he learned from the boy about his antecedents so worked withgratitude upon the sentimental nature of the Celt, that when on thethird day following the Cunarder Carpathia left Naples for New York, she carried not only a gentleman whose brilliant black hair and glowingpink complexion rendered him a bit too conspicuous among herfirst-cabin passengers for his own comfort, but also in the secondcabin his valet--a boy of sixteen who looked eighteen. 

The gentleman's name on the passenger-list didn't, of course, in theleast resemble Bourke. His valet's was given as Michael Lanyard. 

The origin of this name is obscure; Michael being easily corrupted intogood Irish Mickey may safely be attributed to Bourke; Lanyard has atang of the sea which suggests a reminiscence of some sea-tale prizedby the pseudo Marcel Troyon. 

In New York began the second stage in the education of a professionalcriminal. The boy must have searched far for a preceptor of more soundattainments than Bourke. It is, however, only fair to say that Bourkemust have looked as far for an apter pupil. Under his tutelage, MichaelLanyard learned many things; he became a mathematician of considerablepromise, an expert mechanician, a connoisseur of armour-plate andexplosives in their more pacific applications, and he learned to gradeprecious stones with a glance. Also, because Bourke was born ofgentlefolk, he learned to speak English, what clothes to wear and whento wear them, and the civilized practice with knife and fork at table. And because Bourke was a diplomatist of sorts, Marcel acquired theknack of being at ease in every grade of society: he came to know thata self-made millionaire, taken the right way, is as approachable as onewhose millions date back even unto the third generation; he could ordera dinner at Sherry's as readily as drinks at Sharkey's. Most valuableaccomplishment of all, he learned to laugh. In the way of by-productshe picked up a working acquaintance with American, English and Germanslang--French slang he already knew as a mother-tongue--considerablegeographical knowledge of the capitals of Europe, America and Illinois, a taste that discriminated between tobacco and the stuff sold as suchin France, and a genuine passion for good paintings. 

Finally Bourke drilled into his apprentice the three cardinalprinciples of successful cracksmanship: to know his ground thoroughlybefore venturing upon it; to strike and retreat with the swiftprecision of a hawk; to be friendless. 

And the last of these was the greatest. 

"You're a promising lad, " he said--so often that Lanyard would almostwince from that formula of introduction--"a promising lad, though it'ssad I should be to say it, instead of proud as I am. For I've made you:but for me you'd long since have matriculated at La Tour Pointue andgraduated with the canaille of the Santé. And in time you may become afirst-chop operator, which I'm not and never will be; but if you do, 'twill be through fighting shy of two things. The first of them'sWoman, and the second is Man. To make a friend of a man you must loweryour guard. Ordinarily 'tis fatal. As for Woman, remember this, m'lad:to let love into your life you must open a door no mortal hand canclose. And God only knows what'll follow in. If ever you find you'vefallen in love and can't fall out, cut the game on the instant, oryou'll end wearing stripes or broad arrows--the same as myself would, if this cursed cough wasn't going to be the death of me.... No, m'lad:take a fool's advice (you'll never get better) and when you're shut ofme, which will be soon, I'm thinking, take the Lonesome Road and stickto the middle of it. 'He travels the fastest that travels alone' is atrue saying, but 'tis only half the truth: he travels the farthest intothe bargain.... Yet the Lonesome Road has its drawbacks, lad--it's_damned_ lonely!"

Bourke died in Switzerland, of consumption, in the winter of1910--Lanyard at his side till the end. 

Then the boy set his face against the world: alone, lonely, andremembering. 

II

RETURN

His return to Troyon's, whereas an enterprise which Lanyard had beencontemplating for several years--in fact, ever since the death ofBourke--came to pass at length almost purely as an affair of impulse. 

He had come through from London by the afternoon service--viaBoulogne--travelling light, with nothing but a brace of handbags andhis life in his hands. Two coups to his credit since the previousmidnight had made the shift advisable, though only one of them, thelater, rendered it urgent. 

Scotland Yard would, he reckoned, require at least twenty-four hours tounlimber for action on the Omber affair; but the other, the theft ofthe Huysman plans, though not consummated before noon, must have setthe Chancelleries of at least three Powers by the ears before Lanyardwas fairly entrained at Charing Cross. 

Now his opinion of Scotland Yard was low; its emissaries must operategingerly to keep within the laws they serve. But the agents of thevarious Continental secret services have a way of making their own lawsas they go along: and for these Lanyard entertained a respect littleshort of profound. 

He would not have been surprised had he ran foul of trouble on the pierat Folkestone. Boulogne, as well, figured in his imagination as acrucial point: its harbour lights, heaving up over the grim grey waste, peered through the deepening violet dusk to find him on the packet'sdeck, responding to their curious stare with one no less insistentlyinquiring.... But it wasn't until in the gauntlet of the Gare du Norditself that he found anything to shy at. 

Dropping from train to platform, he surrendered his luggage to a readyfacteur, and followed the man through the crush, elbowed andshouldered, offended by the pervasive reek of chilled steam andcoal-gas, and dazzled by the brilliant glare of the overhangingelectric arcs. 

Almost the first face he saw turned his way was that of Roddy. 

The man from Scotland Yard was stationed at one side of the platformgates. Opposite him stood another known by sight to Lanyard--a highlydecorative official from the Préfecture de Police. Both were scanningnarrowly every face in the tide that churned between them. 

Wondering if through some fatal freak of fortuity these were actingunder late telegraphic advice from London, Lanyard held himself well inhand: the first sign of intent to hinder him would prove the signal fora spectacular demonstration of the ungentle art of not getting caughtwith the goods on. And for twenty seconds, while the crowd milledslowly through the narrow exit, he was as near to betraying himself ashe had ever been--nearer, for he had marked down the point on Roddy'sjaw where his first blow would fall, and just where to plant acoup-de-savate most surely to incapacitate the minion of thePréfecture; and all the while was looking the two over with a manner ofthe most calm and impersonal curiosity. 

But beyond an almost imperceptible narrowing of Roddy's eyes when theymet his own, as if the Englishman were struggling with a faulty memory, neither police agent betrayed the least recognition. 

And then Lanyard was outside the station, his facteur introducing himto a ramshackle taxicab. 

No need to speculate whether or not Roddy were gazing after him; in theragged animal who held the door while Lanyard fumbled for his facteur'stip, he recognized a runner for the Préfecture; and beyond questionthere were many such about. If any lingering doubt should troubleRoddy's mind he need only ask, "Such-and-such an one took what cab andfor what destination?" to be instantly and accurately informed. 

In such case to go directly to his apartment, that handy littlerez-de-chaussée near the Trocadéro, was obviously inadvisable. Withoutapparent hesitation Lanyard directed the driver to the Hotel Lutetia, tossed the ragged spy a sou, and was off to the tune of a slammed doorand a motor that sorely needed overhauling.... 

The rain, which had welcomed the train a few miles from Paris, was inthe city torrential. Few wayfarers braved the swimming sidewalks, andthe little clusters of chairs and tables beneath permanent caféawnings were one and all neglected. But in the roadways an amazingconcourse of vehicles, mostly motor-driven, skimmed, skidded, and shotover burnished asphalting all, of course, at top-speed--else this werenot Paris. Lanyard thought of insects on the surface of some darkforest pool.... 

The roof of the cab rang like a drumhead; the driver blinked throughthe back-splatter from his rubber apron; now and again the tyres lostgrip on the treacherous going and provided instants of lively suspense. Lanyard lowered a window to release the musty odour peculiar to Frenchtaxis, got well peppered with moisture, and promptly put it up again. Then insensibly he relaxed, in the toils of memories roused by thereflection that this night fairly duplicated that which had welcomedhim to Paris, twenty years ago. 

It was then that, for the first time in several months, he thoughtdefinitely of Troyon's. 

And it was then that Chance ordained that his taxicab should skid. Onthe point of leaving the Ile de la Cité by way of the Pont St. Michel, it suddenly (one might pardonably have believed) went mad, dartingcrabwise from the middle of the road to the right-hand footway withevident design to climb the rail and make an end to everything in theSeine. The driver regained control barely in time to avert a tragedy, and had no more than accomplished this much when a bit of broken glassgutted one of the rear tyres, which promptly gave up the ghost with aroar like that of a lusty young cannon. 

At this the driver (apparently a person of religious bias) saidsomething heartfelt about the sacred name of his pipe and, crawlingfrom under the apron, turned aft to assess damages. 

On his own part Lanyard swore in sound Saxon, opened the door, anddelivered himself to the pelting shower. 

"Well?" he enquired after watching the driver muzzle the evisceratedtyre for some eloquent moments. 

Turning up a distorted face, the other gesticulated with profaneabandon, by way of good measure interpolating a few disconnected wordsand phrases. Lanyard gathered that this was the second accident of thesame nature since noon that the cab consequently lacked a spare tyre, and that short of a trip to the garage the accident was irremediable. So he said (intelligently) it couldn't be helped, paid the man and overtipped precisely as though their journey had been successfullyconsummated, and standing over his luggage watched the maimed vehiclelimp miserably off through the teeming mists. 

Now in normal course his plight should have been relieved within twominutes. But it wasn't. For some time all such taxis as did passdisplayed scornfully inverted flags. Also, their drivers jeered intheir pleasing Parisian way at the lonely outlander occupying aposition of such uncommon distinction in the heart of the storm and theprecise middle of the Pont St. Michel. 

Over to the left, on the Quai de Marché Neuf, the façade of thePréfecture frowned portentously--"La Tour Pointue, " as the Parisianloves to term it. Lanyard forgot his annoyance long enough to salutethat grim pile with a mocking bow, thinking of the men therein whowould give half their possessions to lay hands on him who was only afew hundred yards distant, marooned in the rain!... 

In its own good time a night-prowling fiacre ambled up and veered overto his hail. He viewed this stroke of good-fortune with intensedisgust: the shambling, weather-beaten animal between the shaftspromised a long, damp crawl to the Lutetia. 

And on this reflection he yielded to impulse. 

Heaving in his luggage--"Troyon's!" he told thecocher.... 

The fiacre lumbered off into that dark maze of streets, narrow andtortuous, which backs up from the Seine to the Luxembourg, while itsfare reflected that Fate had not served him so hardly after all: ifRoddy had really been watching for him at the Gare du Nord, with a mindto follow and wait for his prey to make some incriminating move, thischance-contrived change of vehicles and destination would throw thedetective off the scent and gain the adventurer, at worst, severalhours' leeway. 

When at length his conveyance drew up at the historic corner, Lanyardalighting could have rubbed his eyes to see the windows of Troyon's allbright with electric light. 

Somehow, and most unreasonably, he had always believed the place wouldgo to the hands of the house-wrecker unchanged. 

A smart portier ducked out, seized his luggage, and offered anumbrella. Lanyard composed his features to immobility as he entered thehotel, of no mind to let the least flicker of recognition be detectedin his eyes when they should re-encounter familiar faces. 

And this was quite as well: for--again--the first he saw was Roddy. 

III

A POINT OF INTERROGATION

The man from Scotland Yard had just surrendered hat, coat, and umbrellato the vestiaire and was turning through swinging doors to thedining-room. Again, embracing Lanyard, his glance seemed devoid of anysort of intelligible expression; and if its object needed all hisself-possession in that moment, it was to dissemble relief rather thandismay. An accent of the fortuitous distinguished this second encountertoo persuasively to excuse further misgivings. What the adventurerhimself hadn't known till within the last ten minutes, that he wascoming to Troyon's, Roddy couldn't possibly have anticipated; ergo, whatever the detective's business, it had nothing to do with Lanyard. 

Furthermore, before quitting the lobby, Roddy paused long enough toinstruct the vestiaire to have a fire laid in his room. 

So he was stopping at Troyon's--and didn't care who knew it!

His doubts altogether dissipated by this incident, Lanyard followed hisnatural enemy into the dining-room with an air as devil-may-care as onecould wish and so impressive that the maitre-d'hotel abandoned thedetective to the mercies of one of his captains and himself hastened toseat Lanyard and take his order. 

This last disposed of; Lanyard surrendered himself to newimpressions--of which the first proved a bit disheartening. 

However impulsively, he hadn't resought Troyon's without definiteintent, to wit, to gain some clue, however slender, to the mystery ofthat wretched child, Marcel. But now it appeared he had procrastinatedfatally: Time and Change had left little other than the shell of theTroyon's he remembered. Papa Troyon was gone; Madame no longer occupiedthe desk of the caisse; enquiries, so discreetly worded as to beuncompromising, elicited from the maitre-d'hôtel the information thatthe house had been under new management these eighteen months; the oldproprietor was dead, and his widow had sold out lock, stock and barrel, and retired to the country--it was not known exactly where. And withthe new administration had come fresh decorations and furnishings aswell as a complete change of personnel: not even one of the old waitersremained. 

"'All, all are gone, the old familiar faces, '" Lanyard quoted invindictive melancholy--"damn 'em!"

Happily, it was soon demonstrated that the cuisine was being maintainedon its erstwhile plane of excellence: one still had that comfort.... 

Other impressions, less ultimate, proved puzzling, disconcerting, andparadoxically reassuring. 

Lanyard commanded a fair view of Roddy across the waist of the room. The detective had ordered a meal that matched his aspect well--bothof true British simplicity. He was a square-set man with a square jaw, cold blue eyes, a fat nose, a thin-lipped trap of a mouth, a face asred as rare beefsteak. His dinner comprised a cut from the joint, boiled potatoes, brussels sprouts, a bit of cheese, a bottle of Bass. He ate slowly, chewing with the doggedness of a strong characterhampered by a weak digestion, and all the while kept eyes fixed to anissue of the Paris edition of the London Daily Mail, with an effect ofconcentration quite too convincing. 

Now one doesn't read the Paris edition of the London Daily Mail withtense excitement. Humanly speaking, it can't be done. 

Where, then, was the object of this so sedulously dissembled interest?

Lanyard wasn't slow to read this riddle to his satisfaction--in as far, that is, as it was satisfactory to feel still more certain that Roddy'squarry was another than himself. 

Despite the lateness of the hour, which had by now turned ten o'clock, the restaurant had a dozen tables or so in the service of guestspleasantly engaged in lengthening out an agreeable evening withdessert, coffee, liqueurs and cigarettes. The majority of these were incouples, but at a table one removed from Roddy's sat a party of three;and Lanyard noticed, or fancied, that the man from Scotland Yard turnedhis newspaper only during lulls in the conversation in this quarter. 

Of the three, one might pass for an American of position and wealth: aman of something more than sixty years, with an execrable accent, aracking cough, and a thin, patrician cast of features clouded darkly bythe expression of a soul in torment, furrowed, seamed, twisted--a maskof mortal anguish. And once, when this one looked up and casuallyencountered Lanyard's gaze, the adventurer was shocked to find himselfstaring into eyes like those of a dead man: eyes of a grey so lightthat at a little distance the colour of the irises blendedindistinguishably with their whites, leaving visible only the roundblack points of pupils abnormally distended and staring, blank, fixed, passionless, beneath lashless lids. 

For the instant they seemed to explore Lanyard's very soul with a lookof remote and impersonal curiosity; then they fell away; and when nextthe adventurer looked, the man had turned to attend to some observationof one of his companions. 

On his right sat a girl who might be his daughter; for not only wasshe, too, hall-marked American, but she was far too young to be theother's wife. A demure, old-fashioned type; well-poised but unassuming;fetchingly gowned and with sufficient individuality of taste but notconspicuously; a girl with soft brown hair and soft brown eyes; pretty, not extravagantly so when her face was in repose, but with a slow smilethat rendered her little less than beautiful: in all (Lanyard thought)the kind of woman that is predestined to comfort mankind, whosestrongest instinct is the maternal. 

She took little part in the conversation, seldom interrupting what waspractically a duologue between her putative father and the third oftheir party. 

This last was one, whom Lanyard was sure he knew, though he could seeno more than the back of Monsieur le Comte Remy de Morbihan. 

And he wondered with a thrill of amusement if it were possible thatRoddy was on the trail of that tremendous buck. If so, it would be achase worth following--a diversion rendered the more exquisite toLanyard by the spice of novelty, since for once he would figure as adispassionate bystander. 

The name of Comte Remy de Morbihan, although unrecorded in the Almanachde Gotha, was one to conjure with in the Paris of his day andgeneration. He claimed the distinction of being at once the homeliest, one of the wealthiest, and the most-liked man in France. 

As to his looks, good or bad, they were said to prove infallibly fatalwith women, while not a few men, perhaps for that reason, did theirpossessor the honour to imitate them. The revues burlesqued him; Semcaricatured him; Forain counterfeited him extensively in thatinimitable series of Monday morning cartoons for Le Figaro: one said"De Morbihan" instinctively at sight of that stocky figure, short andbroad, topped by a chubby, moon-like mask with waxed moustaches, womanish eyes, and never-failing grin. 

A creature of proverbial good-nature and exhaustless vitality, hisextraordinary popularity was due to the equally extraordinaryextravagance with which he supported that latest Gallic fad, "le Sport. " The Parisian Rugby team was his pampered protégé, he was anactive member of the Tennis Club, maintained not only a flock ofautomobiles but a famous racing stable, rode to hounds, was a goodfield gun, patronized aviation and motor-boat racing, risked as manymaximums during the Monte Carlo season as the Grand Duke Michaelhimself, and was always ready to whet rapiers or burn a little harmlesspowder of an early morning in the Parc aux Princes. 

But there were ugly whispers current with respect to the sources of hisfabulous wealth. Lanyard, for one, wouldn't have thought him theproperest company or the best Parisian cicerone for an ailing Americangentleman blessed with independent means and an attractive daughter. 

Paris, on the other hand--Paris who forgives everything to him whocontributes to her amusement--adored Comte Remy de Morbihan ... 

But perhaps Lanyard was prejudiced by his partiality for Americans, asentiment the outgrowth of the years spent in New York with Bourke. Heeven fancied that between his spirit and theirs existed some subtlebond of sympathy. For all he knew he might himself be American... 

For some time Lanyard strained to catch something of the conversationthat seemed to hold so much of interest for Roddy, but without successbecause of the hum of voices that filled the room. In time, however, the gathering began to thin out, until at length there remained onlythis party of three, Lanyard enjoying a most delectable salad, andRoddy puffing a cigar (with such a show of enjoyment that Lanyardsuspected him of the sin of smuggling) and slowly gulping down a secondbottle of Bass. 

Under these conditions the talk between De Morbihan and the Americansbecame public property. 

The first remark overheard by Lanyard came from the elderly American, following a pause and a consultation of his watch. 

"Quarter to eleven, " he announced. 

"Plenty of time, " said De Morbihan cheerfully. "That is, " he amended, "if mademoiselle isn't bored ... "

The girl's reply, accompanied by a pretty inclination of her headtoward the Frenchman, was lost in the accents of the first speaker--astrong and sonorous voice, in strange contrast with his ravagedappearance and distressing cough. 

"Don't let that worry you, " he advised cheerfully. "Lucia's accustomedto keeping late hours with me; and who ever heard of a young andpretty woman being bored on the third day of her first visit to Paris?"

He pronounced the name with the hard C of the Italian tongue, as thoughit were spelled Luchia. 

"To be sure, " laughed the Frenchman; "one suspects it will be longbefore mademoiselle loses interest in the rue de la Paix. "

"You may well, when such beautiful things come from it, " said the girl. "See what we found there to-day. "

She slipped a ring from her hand and passed it to De Morbihan. 

There followed silence for an instant, then an exclamation from theFrenchman:

"But it is superb! Accept, mademoiselle, my compliments. It is worthyeven of you. "

She flushed prettily as she nodded smiling acknowledgement. 

"Ah, you Americans!" De Morbihan sighed. "You fill us with envy: youhave the souls of poets and the wealth of princes!"

"But we must come to Paris to find beautiful things for ourwomen-folk!"

"Take care, though, lest you go too far, Monsieur Bannon. "

"How so--too far?"

"You might attract the attention of the Lone Wolf. They say he's onthe prowl once more. "

The American laughed a trace contemptuously. Lanyard's fingerstightened on his knife and fork; otherwise he made no sign. A sidelongglance into a mirror at his elbow showed Roddy still absorbed in theDaily Mail. 

The girl bent forward with a look of eager interest. 

"The Lone Wolf? Who is that?"

"You don't know him in America, mademoiselle?"

"No.... "

"The Lone Wolf, my dear Lucia, " the valetudinarian explained in a drylyhumourous tone, "is the sobriquet fastened by some imaginative Frenchreporter upon a celebrated criminal who seems to have made himselfsomething of a pest over here, these last few years. Nobody knowsanything definite about him, apparently, but he operates in a mostindividual way and keeps the police busy trying to guess where he'llstrike next. "

The girl breathed an incredulous exclamation. 

"But I assure you!" De Morbihan protested. "The rogue has had awonderfully successful career, thanks to his dispensing withconfederates and confining his depredations to jewels and similarvaluables, portable and easy to convert into cash. Yet, " he added, nodding sagely, "one isn't afraid to predict his race is almost run. ""You don't tell me!" the older man exclaimed. "Have they picked up thescent--at last?"

"The man is known, " De Morbihan affirmed. 

By now the conversation had caught the interest of several loiteringwaiters, who were listening open-mouthed. Even Roddy seemed a bitstartled, and for once forgot to make business with his newspaper; buthis wondering stare was exclusively for De Morbihan. 

Lanyard put down knife and fork, swallowed a final mouthful of HautBrion, and lighted a cigarette with the hand of a man who knew not themeaning of nerves. 

"Garçon!" he called quietly; and ordered coffee and cigars, with aliqueur to follow.... 

"Known!" the American exclaimed. "They've caught him, eh?"

"I didn't say that, " De Morbihan laughed; "but the mystery is nomore--in certain quarters. "

"Who is he, then?"

"That--monsieur will pardon me--I'm not yet free to state. Indeed, Imay be indiscreet in saying as much as I do. Yet, among friends... "

His shrug implied that, as far as _he_ was concerned, waiters wereunhuman and the other guests of the establishment non-existent. 

"But, " the American persisted, "perhaps you can tell us how they got onhis track?"

"It wasn't difficult, " said De Morbihan: "indeed, quite simple. Thistone of depreciation is becoming, for it was my part to suggest thesolution to my friend, the Chief of the Sûreté. He had been annoyed anddistressed, had even spoken of handing in his resignation because ofhis inability to cope with this gentleman, the Lone Wolf. And since heis my friend, I too was distressed on his behalf, and badgered my poorwits until they chanced upon an idea which led us to the light. "

"You won't tell us?" the girl protested, with a little moue ofdisappointment, as the Frenchman paused provokingly. 

"Perhaps I shouldn't. And yet--why not? As I say, it was elementaryreasoning--a mere matter of logical deduction and elimination. One madeup one's mind the Lone Wolf must be a certain sort of man; the rest wassimply sifting France for the man to fit the theory, and then watchinghim until he gave himself away. "

"You don't imagine we're going to let you stop there?" The Americandemanded in an aggrieved tone. 

"No? I must continue? Very well: I confess to some little pride. It wasa feat. He is cunning, that one!"

De Morbihan paused and shifted sideways in his chair, grinning like amischievous child. 

By this manoeuvre, thanks to the arrangement of mirrors lining thewalls, he commanded an indirect view of Lanyard; a fact of which thelatter was not unaware, though his expression remained unchanged as hesat--with a corner of his eye reserved for Roddy--speculating whetherDe Morbihan were telling the truth or only boasting for his ownglorification. 

"Do go on--please!" the girl begged prettily. 

"I can deny you nothing, mademoiselle.... Well, then! From what littlewas known of this mysterious creature, one readily inferred he must bea bachelor, with no close friends. That is clear, I trust?"

"Too deep for me, my friend, " the elderly man confessed. 

"Impenetrable reticence, " the Count expounded, sententious--andenjoying himself hugely--"isn't possible in the human relations. Sooneror later one is doomed to share one's secrets, however reluctantly, even unconsciously, with a wife, a mistress, a child, or with sometrusted friend. And a secret between two is--a prolific breeder ofplatitudes! Granted this line of reasoning, the Lone Wolf is ofnecessity not only unmarried but practically friendless. Otherattributes of his will obviously comprise youth, courage, imagination, a rather high order of intelligence, and a social position--let us say, rather, an ostensible business--enabling him to travel at will hitherand yon without exciting comment. So far, good! My friend the Chief ofthe Sûreté forthwith commissioned his agents to seek such an one, andby this means several fine fish were enmeshed in the net of suspicion, carefully scrutinized, and one by one let go--all except one, theveritable man. Him they sedulously watched, shadowing him across Europeand back again. He was in Berlin at the time of the famous Rheinartrobbery, though he compassed that coup without detection; he was inVienna when the British embassy there was looted, but escaped by aclever ruse and managed to dispose of his plunder before the agents ofthe Sûreté could lay hands on him; recently he has been in London, andthere he made love to, and ran away with, the diamonds of a certainlady of some eminence. You have heard of Madame Omber, eh?" Now byRoddy's expression it was plain that, if Madame Omber's name wasn'tstrange in his hearing, at least he found this news about her mostsurprising. He was frankly staring, with a slackened jaw and withstupefaction in his blank blue eyes. 

Lanyard gently pinched the small end of a cigar, dipped it into hiscoffee, and lighted it with not so much as a suspicion of tremor. Hisbrain, however, was working rapidly in effort to determine whether DeMorbihan meant this for warning, or was simply narrating an amusingyarn founded on advance information and amplified by an ingeniousimagination. For by now the news of the Omber affair must have thrilledmany a Continental telegraph-wire.... 

"Madame Omber--of course!" the American agreed thoughtfully. "Everyone has heard of her wonderful jewels. The real marvel is thatthe Lone Wolf neglected so shining a mark as long as he did. "

"But truly so, monsieur!"

"And they caught him at it, eh?"

"Not precisely: but he left a clue--and London, to boot--with suchhaste as would seem to indicate he knew his cunning hand had, for once, slipped. "

"Then they'll nab him soon?"

"Ah, monsieur, one must say no more!" De Morbihan protested. "Restassured the Chief of the Sûreté has laid his plans: his web is spun, and so artfully that I think our unsociable outlaw will soon be makingfriends in the Prison of the Santé.... But now we must adjourn. One issorry. It has been so very pleasant.... "

A waiter conjured the bill from some recess of his waistcoat and servedit on a clean plate to the American. Another ran bawling for thevestiaire. Roddy glued his gaze afresh to the Daily Mail. The partyrose. 

Lanyard noticed that the American signed instead of settling the billwith cash, indicating that he resided at Troyon's as well as dinedthere. And the adventurer found time to reflect that it was odd forsuch as he to seek that particular establishment in preference to thepalatial modern hostelries of the Rive Droit--before De Morbihan, ostensibly for the first time espying Lanyard, plunged across the roomwith both hands outstretched and a cry of joyous surprise not reallyjustified by their rather slight acquaintanceship. 

"Ah! Ah!" he clamoured vivaciously. "It is Monsieur Lanyard, who knowsall about paintings! But this is delightful, my friend--one grandpleasure! You must know my friends.... But come!"

And seizing Lanyard's hands, when that one somewhat reluctantly rose inresponse to this surprisingly over-exuberant greeting, he dragged himwilly-nilly from behind his table. 

"And you are American, too. Certainly you must know one another. Mademoiselle Bannon--with your permission--my friend, Monsieur Lanyard. And Monsieur Bannon--an old, dear friend, with whom you will share apassion for the beauties of art. "

The hand of the American, when Lanyard clasped it, was cold, as cold asice; and as their eyes met that abominable cough laid hold of the man, as it were by the nape of his neck, and shook him viciously. Before ithad finished with him, his sensitively coloured face was purple, and hewas gasping, breathless--and infuriated. 

"Monsieur Bannon, " De Morbihan explained disconnectedly--"it is mostdistressing--I tell him he should not stop in Paris at this season--"

"It is nothing!" the American interposed brusquely between paroxysms. 

"But our winter climate, monsieur--it is not fit for those in the primeof health--"

"It is I who am unfit!" Bannon snapped, pressing a handkerchief to hislips--"unfit to live!" he amended venomously. 

Lanyard murmured some conventional expression of sympathy. Through itall he was conscious of the regard of the girl. Her soft brown eyesmet his candidly, with a look cool in its composure, straightforward inits enquiry, neither bold nor mock-demure. And if they were the firstto fall, it was with an effect of curiosity sated, without hint ofdiscomfiture.... And somehow the adventurer felt himself measured, classified, filed away. 

Between amusement and pique he continued to stare while the elderlyAmerican recovered his breath and De Morbihan jabbered on withunfailing vivacity; and he thought that this closer scrutiny discoveredin her face contours suggesting maturity of thought beyond her apparentyears--which were somewhat less than the sum of Lanyard's--and withthis the suggestion of an elusive, provoking quality of wistfullanguor, a hint of patient melancholy.... 

"We are off for a glimpse of Montmartre, " De Morbihan wasexplaining--"Monsieur Bannon and I. He has not seen Paris in twentyyears, he tells me. Well, it will be amusing to show him what changeshave taken place in all that time. One regrets mademoiselle is toofatigued to accompany us. But you, my friend--now if you would consentto make our third, it would be most amiable of you. "

"I'm sorry, " Lanyard excused himself; "but as you see, I am only justin from the railroad, a long and tiresome journey. You are very good, but I--"

"Good!" De Morbihan exclaimed with violence. "I? On the contrary, I ama very selfish man; I seek but to afford myself the pleasure of yourcompany. You lead such a busy life, my friend, romping about Europe, here one day, God-knows-where the next, that one must make one's bestof your spare moments. You will join us, surely?"

"Really I cannot to-night. Another time perhaps, if you'll excuse me. "

"But it is always this way!" De Morbihan explained to his friends witha vast show of mock indignation. "'Another time, perhaps'--hisinvariable excuse! I tell you, not two men in all Paris have any realacquaintance with this gentleman whom all Paris knows! His reserve isproverbial--'as distant as Lanyard, ' we say on the boulevards!" Andturning again to the adventurer, meeting his cold stare with the DeMorbihan grin of quenchless effrontery--"As you will, my friend!" hegranted. "But should you change your mind--well, you'll have no troublefinding us. Ask any place along the regular route. We see far toolittle of one another, monsieur--and I am most anxious to have alittle chat with you. "

"It will be an honour, " Lanyard returned formally.... 

In his heart he was pondering several most excruciating methods ofmurdering the man. What did he mean? How much did he know? If he knewanything, he must mean ill, for assuredly he could not be ignorant ofRoddy's business, or that every other word he uttered was rivettingsuspicion on Lanyard of identity with the Lone Wolf, or that Roddy waslistening with all his ears and staring into the bargain!

Decidedly something must be done to silence this animal, should it turnout he really did know anything!

It was only after profound reflection over his liqueur (while Roddydevoured his Daily Mail and washed it down with a third bottle of Bass)that Lanyard summoned the maitre-d'hôtel and asked for a room. 

It would never do to fix the doubts of the detective by going elsewherethat night. But, fortunately, Lanyard knew that warren which wasTroyon's as no one else knew it; Roddy would find it hard to detainhim, should events seem to advise an early departure. 

IV

A STRATAGEM

When the maitre-d'hôtel had shown him all over the establishment(innocently enough, en route, furnishing him with a complete list ofhis other guests and their rooms: memoranda readily registered by aretentive memory) Lanyard chose the bed-chamber next that occupied byRoddy, in the second storey. 

The consideration influencing this selection was--of course--that, sosituated, he would be in position not only to keep an eye on the manfrom Scotland Yard but also to determine whether or no Roddy weredisposed to keep an eye on him. 

In those days Lanyard's faith in himself was a beautiful thing. Hecould not have enjoyed the immunity ascribed to the Lone Wolf as longas he had without gaining a power of sturdy self-confidence in additionto a certain amount of temperate contempt for spies of the law and alltheir ways. 

Against the peril inherent in this last, however, he was self-warned, esteeming it the most fatal chink in the armour of the lawbreaker, thisdisposition to underestimate the acumen of the police: far too manypromising young adventurers like himself were annually laid by theheels in that snare of their own infatuate weaving. The mouse has everyright, if he likes, to despise the cat for a heavy-handed andbloodthirsty beast, lacking wit and imagination, a creature of simpleforce-majeure; but that mouse will not advisedly swagger in cat-hauntedterritory; a blow of the paw is, when all's said and done, a blow ofthe paw--something to numb the wits of the wiliest mouse. 

Considering Roddy, he believed it to be impossible to gauge thelimitations of that essentially British intelligence--something asself-contained as a London flat. One thing only was certain: Roddydidn't always think in terms of beef and Bass; he was nobody's facilefool; he could make a shrewd inference as well as strike a shrewd blow. 

Reviewing the scene in the restaurant, Lanyard felt measurablywarranted in assuming not only that Roddy was interested in DeMorbihan, but that the Frenchman was well aware of that interest. Andhe resented sincerely his inability to feel as confident that theCount, with his gossip about the Lone Wolf, had been merely seeking todivert Roddy's interest to putatively larger game. It was just possiblethat De Morbihan's identification of Lanyard with that mysteriouspersonage, at least by innuendo, had been unintentional. But somehowLanyard didn't believe it had. 

The two questions troubled him sorely: Did De Morbihan _know_, did hemerely suspect, or had he only loosed an aimless shot which chance hadsped to the right goal? Had the mind of Roddy proved fallow to thatsuggestion, or had it, with its simple national tenacity, beenimpatient of such side issues, or incredulous, and persisted infocusing its processes upon the personality and activities of Monsieurle Comte Remy de Morbihan? However, one would surely learn somethingilluminating before very long. The business of a sleuth is to sleuth, and sooner or later Roddy must surely make some move to indicate thequarter wherein his real interest lay. 

Just at present, reasoning from noises audible through the bolted doorthat communicated with the adjoining bed-chamber, the business of asleuth seemed to comprise going to bed. Lanyard, shaving and dressing, could distinctly hear a tuneless voice contentedly humming "Sally inour Alley, " a rendition punctuated by one heavy thump and then anotherand then by a heartfelt sigh of relief--as Roddy kicked off hisboots--and followed by the tapping of a pipe against grate-bars, thesqueal of a window lowered for ventilation, the click of anelectric-light, and the creaking of bed-springs. 

Finally, and before Lanyard had finished dressing, the man fromScotland Yard began placidly to snore. 

Of course, he might well be bluffing; for Lanyard had taken pains tolet Roddy know that they were neighbours, by announcing his selectionin loud tones close to the communicating door. 

But this was a question which the adventurer meant to have answeredbefore he went out.... 

It was hard upon twelve o'clock when the mirror on the dressing-tableassured him that he was at length point-device in the habit and apparelof a gentleman of elegant nocturnal leisure. But if he approved thefigure he cut, it was mainly because clothes interested him and hereckoned his own impeccable. Of their tenant he was feeling just then abit less sure than he had half-an-hour since; his regard was louringand mistrustful. He was, in short, suffering reaction from the highspirits engendered by his cross-Channel exploits, his successfulget-away, and the unusual circumstances attendant upon his return tothis memory-haunted mausoleum of an unhappy childhood. He even shivereda trifle, as if under premonition of misfortune, and asked himselfheavily: Why not?

For, logically considered, a break in the run of his luck was due. Thusfar he had played, with a success almost too uniform, his dual rôle, byday the amiable amateur of art, by night the nameless mystery thatprowled unseen and preyed unhindered. Could such success be reasonablyexpected to attend him always? Should he count De Morbihan's yarn awarning? Black must turn up every so often in a run of red: everygambler knows as much. And what was Michael Lanyard but a commongambler, who persistently staked life and liberty against the blindlyimpartial casts of Chance?

With one last look round to make certain there was nothing in thecalculated disorder of his room to incriminate him were it to besearched in his absence, Lanyard enveloped himself in a longfull-skirted coat, clapped on an opera hat, and went out, noisilylocking the door. He might as well have left it wide, but it woulddo no harm to pretend he didn't know the bed-chamber keys atTroyon's were interchangeable--identically the same keys, in fact, that had been in service in the days of Marcel the wretched. 

A single half-power electric bulb now modified the gloom of thecorridor; its fellow made a light blot on the darkness of thecourtyard. Even the windows of the conciergerie were black. 

None the less, Lanyard tapped them smartly. 

"_Cordon_!" he demanded in a strident voice. "_Cordon, s'il vousplait! _"

"_Eh? _" A startled grunt from within the lodge was barely audible. Then the latch clicked loudly at the end of the passageway. 

Groping his way in the direction of this last sound, Lanyard found thesmall side door ajar. He opened it, and hesitated a moment, looking outas though questioning the weather; simultaneously his deft fingerswedged the latch back with a thin slip of steel. 

No rain, in fact, had fallen within the hour; but still the sky wasdense with a sullen rack, and still the sidewalks were inky wet. 

The street was lonely and indifferently lighted, but a swift searchingreconnaissance discovered nothing that suggested a spy skulking in theshelter of any of the nearer shadows. 

Stepping out, he slammed the door and strode briskly round the corner, as if making for the cab-rank that lines up along the LuxembourgGardens side of the rue de Medicis; his boot-heels made a cheerfulracket in that quiet hour; he was quite audibly going away fromTroyon's. 

But instead of holding on to the cab-rank, he turned the next corner, and then the next, rounding the block; and presently, reapproaching theentrance to Troyon's, paused in the recess of a dark doorway and, lifting one foot after another, slipped rubber caps over his heels. Thereafter his progress was practically noiseless. 

The smaller door yielded to his touch without a murmur. Inside, heclosed it gently, and stood a moment listening with all his senses--notwith his ears alone but with every nerve and fibre of his being--withhis imagination, to boot. But there was never a sound or movement inall the house that he could detect. 

And no shadow could have made less noise than he, slipping cat-footedacross the courtyard and up the stairs, avoiding with super-developedsensitiveness every lift that might complain beneath his tread. In atrice he was again in the corridor leading to his bed-chamber. 

It was quite as gloomy and empty as it had been five minutes ago, yetwith a difference, a something in its atmosphere that made him nodbriefly in confirmation of that suspicion which had brought him back sostealthily. 

For one thing, Roddy had stopped snoring. And Lanyard smiled over thethought that the man from Scotland Yard might profitably have copiedthat trick of poor Bourke's, of snoring like the Seven Sleepers whenmost completely awake.... 

It was naturally no surprise to find his bed-chamber door unlocked andslightly ajar. Lanyard made sure of the readiness of his automatic, strode into the room, and shut the door quietly but by no meanssoundlessly. 

He had left the shades down and the hangings drawn at both windows; andsince these had not been disturbed, something nearly approachingcomplete darkness reigned in the room. But though promptly on enteringhis fingers closed upon the wall-switch near the door, he refrainedfrom turning up the lights immediately, with a fancy of impishinspiration that it would be amusing to learn what move Roddy wouldmake when the tension became too much even for his trained nerves. 

Several seconds passed without the least sound disturbing the stillness. 

Lanyard himself grew a little impatient, finding that his sight failedto grow accustomed to the darkness because that last was too absolute, pressing against his staring eyeballs like a black fluid impenetrablyopaque, as unbroken as the hush. 

Still, he waited: surely Roddy wouldn't be able much longer to enduresuch suspense.... 

And, surely enough, the silence was abruptly broken by a strange andmoving sound, a hushed cry of alarm that was half a moan and half a sob. 

Lanyard himself was startled: for that was never Roddy's voice!

There was a noise of muffled and confused footsteps, as though someonehad started in panic for the door, then stopped in terror. 

Words followed, the strangest he could have imagined, words spoken in agentle and tremulous voice:

"In pity's name! who are you and what do you want?"

Thunderstruck, Lanyard switched on the lights. 

At a distance of some six paces he saw, not Roddy, but a woman, and nota woman merely, but the girl he had met in the restaurant. 

V

ANTICLIMAX

The surprise was complete; none, indeed, was ever more so; but it's aquestion which party thereto was the more affected. 

Lanyard stared with the eyes of stupefaction. To his fancy, this thingpassed the compass of simple incredulity: it wasn't merely improbable, it was preposterous; it was anticlimax exaggerated to the proportionsof the grotesque. 

He had come prepared to surprise and bully rag the most astute policedetective of whom he had any knowledge; he found himself surprised anddiscountenanced by _this_... !

Confusion no less intense informed the girl's expression; her eyes werefixed to his with a look of blank enquiry; her face, whose colouringhad won his admiration two hours since, was colourless; her lips werejust ajar; the fingers of one hand touched her cheek, indenting it. 

The other hand caught up before her the long skirts of a prettyrobe-de-chambre, beneath whose edge a hand's-breadth of white silkshimmered and the toe of a silken mule was visible. Thus she stood, poised for flight, attired only in a dressing-gown over what, onecouldn't help suspecting, was her night-dress: for her hair was down, and she was unquestionably all ready for her bed.... But Bourke'spatient training had been wasted if this man proved one to remain longat loss. Rallying his wits quickly from their momentary rout, hereasserted command over them, and if he didn't in the least understand, made a brave show of accepting this amazing accident as a commonplace. 

"I beg your pardon, Miss Bannon--" he began with a formal bow. 

She interrupted with a gasp of wondering recognition:"Mr. Lanyard!"

He inclined his head a second time: "Sorry to disturb you--"

"But I don't understand--"

"Unfortunately, " he proceeded smoothly, "I forgot something when I wentout, and had to come back for it. "

"But--but--"

"Yes?"

Suddenly her eyes, for the first time detached from his, swept the roomwith a glance of wild dismay. 

"This room, " she breathed--"I don't know it--"

"It is mine. "

"Yours! But--"

"That is how I happened to--interrupt you. "

The girl shrank back a pace--two paces--uttering a low-tonedmonosyllable of understanding, an "_O!_" abruptly gasped. Simultaneously her face and throat flamed scarlet. 

"_Your_ room, Mr. Lanyard!"

Her tone so convincingly voiced shame and horror that his heart misgavehim. Not that alone, but the girl was very good to look upon. "I'msure, " he began soothingly; "it doesn't matter. You mistook a door--"

"But you don't understand!" She shuddered.... "This dreadful habit! And I was hoping I had outgrown it! How can I everexplain--?"

"Believe me, Miss Bannon, you need explain nothing. "

"But I must... I wish to... I can't bear to let you think... But surelyyou can make allowances for sleepwalking!"

To this appeal he could at first return nothing more intelligent than adazed repetition of the phrase. 

So that was how... Why hadn't he thought of it before? Ever since he hadturned on the lights, he had been subjectively busy trying to invest herpresence there with some plausible excuse. But somnambulism had neveronce entered his mind. And in his stupidity, at pains though he hadbeen to render his words inoffensive, he had been guilty ofconstructive incivility. 

In his turn, Lanyard coloured warmly. 

"I beg your pardon, " he muttered. 

The girl paid no attention; she seemed self-absorbed, thinking only ofherself and the anomalous position into which her infirmity had trickedher. When she did speak, her words came swiftly:

"You see... I was so frightened! I found myself suddenly standing up indarkness, just as if I had jumped out of bed at some alarm; and then Iheard somebody enter the room and shut the door stealthily... Oh, pleaseunderstand me!"

"But I do, Miss Bannon--quite. "

"I am so ashamed--"

"Please don't consider it that way. "

"But now that you know--you don't think--"

"My dear Miss Bannon!"

"But it must be so hard to credit! Even I... Why, it's more than a yearsince this last happened. Of course, as a child, it was almost a habit;they had to watch me all the time. Once... But that doesn't matter. I_am_ so sorry. "

"You really mustn't worry, " Lanyard insisted. "It's all quitenatural--such things do happen--are happening all the time--"

"But I don't want you--"

"I am nobody, Miss Bannon. Besides I shan't mention the matter to asoul. And if ever I am fortunate enough to meet you again, I shall haveforgotten it completely--believe me. "

There was convincing sincerity in his tone. The girl looked down, asthough abashed. 

"You are very good, " she murmured, moving toward the door. 

"I am very fortunate. "

Her glance of surprise was question enough. 

"To be able to treasure this much of your confidence, " he explainedwith a tentative smile. 

She was near the door; he opened it for her, but cautioned her with agesture and a whispered word: "Wait. I'll make sure nobody's about. "

He stepped noiselessly into the hall and paused an instant, lookingright and left, listening. 

The girl advanced to the threshold and there checked, hesitant, eyeinghim anxiously. 

He nodded reassurance: "All right--coast's clear!"

But she delayed one moment more. 

"It's you who are mistaken, " she whispered, colouring again beneath hisregard, in which admiration could not well be lacking, "It is I who amfortunate--to have met a--gentleman. "

Her diffident smile, together with the candour of her eyes, embarrassedhim to such extent that for the moment he was unable to frame a reply. 

"Good night, " she whispered--"and thank you, thank you!"

Her room was at the far end of the corridor. She gained its thresholdin one swift dash, noiseless save for the silken whisper of hergarments, turned, flashed him a final look that left him with thethought that novelists did not always exaggerate, that eyes could shinelike stars.... 

Her door closed softly. 

Lanyard shook his head as if to dissipate a swarm of annoying thoughts, and went back into his own bed-chamber. 

He was quite content with the explanation the girl had given, but beingthe slave of a methodical and pertinacious habit of mind, spent fivebusy minutes examining his room and all that it contained with aperseverance that would have done credit to a Frenchman searching for amislaid sou. 

If pressed, he would have been put to it to name what he sought orthought to find. What he did find was that nothing had been tamperedwith and nothing more--not even so much as a dainty, lace-trimmed wispof sheer linen bearing the lady's monogram and exhaling a faint butindividual perfume. 

Which, when he came to consider it, seemed hardly playing the game bythe book. 

As for Roddy, Lanyard wasted several minutes, off and on, listeningattentively at the communicating door; but if the detective had stoppedsnoring, his respiration was loud enough in that quiet hour, a sound ofharsh monotony. 

True, that proved nothing; but Lanyard, after the fiasco of his firstattempt to catch his enemy awake, was no more disposed to behypercritical; he had his fill of being ingenious and profound. Andwhen presently he again left Troyon's (this time without troubling therepose of the concierge) it was with the reflection that, if Roddy werereally playing 'possum, he was welcome to whatever he could find ofinterest in the quarters of Michael Lanyard. 

VI

THE PACK GIVES TONGUE

Lanyard's first destination was that convenient little rez-de-chausséeapartment near the Trocadéro, at the junction of the rue Roget and theavenue de l'Alma; but his way thither was so roundabout that the bestpart of an hour was required for what might have been less than atwenty-minute taxicab course direct from Troyon's. It was past one whenhe arrived, afoot, at the corner. 

Not that he grudged the time; for in Lanyard's esteem Bourke's epigramhad come to have the weight and force of an axiom: "The more troubleyou make for yourself, the less the good public will make for you. "

Paradoxically, he hadn't the least intention of attempting to deceiveanybody as to his permanent address in Paris, where Michael Lanyard, connoisseur of fine paintings, was a figure too conspicuous to permithis making a secret of his residence. De Morbihan, moreover, throughrecognizing him at Troyon's, had rendered it impossible for Lanyard toadopt a nom-de-guerre there, even had he thought that ruse advisable. 

But he had certain businesses to attend to before dawn, affairsdemanding privacy; and while by no means sure he was followed, one canseldom be sure of anything, especially in Paris, where nothing isimpossible; and it were as well to lose a spy first as last. And hismind could not be at ease with respect to Roddy, thanks to DeMorbihan's gasconade in the presence of the detective and also to thathint which the Count had dropped concerning some fatal blunder in thecourse of Lanyard's British campaign. 

The adventurer could recall leaving no step uncovered. Indeed, he hadprided himself on conducting his operations with a degree ofcircumspection unusually thorough-going, even for him. Yet he wasunable to rid himself of those misgivings roused by De Morbihan'sdeclaration that the theft of the Omber jewels had been accomplishedonly at cost of a clue to the thief's identity. 

Now the Count's positive information concerning the robbery proved thatthe news thereof had anticipated the arrival of its perpetrator inParis; yet Roddy unquestionably had known nothing of it prior to itsmention in his presence, after dinner. Or else the detective was afiner actor than Lanyard credited. 

But how could De Morbihan have come by his news?

Lanyard was really and deeply perturbed.... 

Pestered to distraction by such thoughts, he fitted key to latch andquietly let himself into his flat by a private street-entrance which, in addition to the usual door opening on the court and under the eye ofthe concierge, distinguished this from the ordinary Parisian apartmentand rendered it doubly suited to the adventurer's uses. 

Then he turned on the lights and moved quickly from room to room of thethree comprising his quarters, with comprehensive glances reviewingtheir condition. 

But, indeed, he hadn't left the reception-hall for the salon withoutrecognizing that things were in no respect as they ought to be: a hathe had left on the hall rack had been moved to another peg; a chair hadbeen shifted six inches from its ordained position; and the door of aclothes-press, which he had locked on leaving, now stood ajar. 

Furthermore, the state of the salon, which he had furnished as a loungeand study, and of the tiny dining-room and the bed-chamber adjoining, bore out these testimonies to the fact that alien hands had thoroughlyransacked the apartment, leaving no square inch unscrutinized. 

Yet the proprietor missed nothing. His rooms were a private gallery ofvaluable paintings and antique furniture to poison with envy the mindof any collector, and housed into the bargain a small museum of rarebooks, manuscripts, and articles of exquisite workmanship whoseindividuality, aside from intrinsic worth, rendered them priceless. Aburglar of discrimination might have carried off in one coat-pocketloot enough to foot the bill for a twelve-month of profligateexistence. But nothing had been removed, nothing at least that wasapparent in the first tour of inspection; which, if sweeping, was by nomeans superficial. 

Before checking off more elaborately his mental inventory, Lanyardturned attention to the protective device, a simple but exhaustivesystem of burglar-alarm wiring so contrived that any attempt to enterthe apartment save by means of a key which fitted both doors and ofwhich no duplicate existed would alarm both the concierge and theburglar protective society. Though it seemed to have been in no waytampered with, to test the apparatus he opened a window on the court. 

The lodge of the concierge was within earshot. If the alarm had been ingood order, Lanyard could have heard the bell from his window. He heardnothing. 

With a shrug, he shut the window. He knew well--none better--how suchprotection could be rendered valueless by a thoughtful and fore-handedhousebreaker. 

Returning to the salon, where the main body of his collection wasassembled, he moved slowly from object to object, ticking off items andnoting their condition; with the sole result of justifying his firstconclusion, that whereas nothing had escaped handling, nothing had beenremoved. 

By way of a final test, he opened his desk (of which the lock had beendeftly picked) and went through its pigeon-holes. 

His scanty correspondence, composed chiefly of letters exchanged withart dealers, had been scrutinized and replaced carelessly, in disorder:and here again he missed nothing; but in the end, removing a smalldrawer and inserting a hand in its socket, he dislodged a rack ofpigeon-holes and exposed the secret cabinet that is almost inevitablyan attribute of such pieces of period furniture. 

A shallow box, this secret space contained one thing only, but that oneof considerable value, being the leather bill-fold in which theadventurer kept a store of ready money against emergencies. 

It was mostly for this, indeed, that he had come to his apartment; hisLondon campaign having demanded an expenditure far beyond hiscalculations, so that he had landed in Paris with less than one hundredfrancs in pocket. And Lanyard, for all his pride of spirit, acknowledged one haunting fear that of finding himself strapped in theface of emergency. 

The fold yielded up its hoard to a sou: Lanyard counted out five notesof one thousand francs and ten of twenty pounds: their sum, upwards oftwo thousand dollars. 

But if nothing had been abstracted, something had been added: the backof one of the Bank of England notes had been used as a blank formemorandum. 

Lanyard spread it out and studied it attentively. 

The handwriting had been traced with no discernible attempt at disguise, but was quite strange to him. The pen employed had been one of thoseneedle-pointed nibs so popular in France; the hand was that of aneducated Frenchman. The import of the memorandum translatedsubstantially as follows:

_"To the Lone Wolf-- "The Pack sends Greetings "and extends its invitation "to participate in the benefits "of its Fraternity. "One awaits him always at "L'Abbaye Thêléme. "_

A date was added, the date of that very day... 

Deliberately, having conned this communication, Lanyard produced hiscigarette-case, selected a cigarette, found his briquet, struck alight, twisted the note of twenty pounds into a rude spill, set itafire, lighted his cigarette there from and, rising, conveyed theburning paper to a cold and empty fire-place wherein he permitted it toburn to a crisp black ash. 

When this was done, his smile broke through his clouding scowl. 

"Well, my friend!" he apostrophized the author of that document whichnow could never prove incriminating--"at all events, I have you to thankfor a new sensation. It has long been my ambition to feel warranted inlighting a cigarette with a twenty-pound note, if the whim should everseize me!"

His smile faded slowly; the frown replaced it: something far morevaluable to him than a hundred dollars had just gone up in smoke ... 

VII

L'ABBAYE

His secret uncovered, that essential incognito of his punctured, hisvanity touched to the quick--all that laboriously constructed edificeof art and chicane which yesterday had seemed so substantial, soimpregnable a wall between the Lone Wolf and the World, to-day rent, torn asunder, and cast down in ruins about his feet--Lanyard wastedtime neither in profitless lamentation or any other sort of repining. 

He had much to do before morning: to determine, as definitely as mightin discretion be possible, who had fathomed his secret and how; tocalculate what chance he still had of pursuing his career withoutexposure and disaster; and to arrange, if investigation verified hisexpectations, which were of the gloomiest, to withdraw in good order, with all honours of war, from that dangerous field. 

Delaying only long enough to revise plans disarranged by thediscoveries of this last bad quarter of an hour, he put out the lightsand went out by the courtyard door; for it was just possible that thosewhose sardonic whim it had been to name themselves "the Pack" mighthave stationed agents in the street to follow their dissocial brotherin crime. And now more than ever Lanyard was firmly bent on going hisown way unwatched. His own way first led him stealthily past the doorof the conciergerie and through the court to the public hall in themain body of the building. Happily, there were no lights to betray himhad anyone been awake to notice. For thanks to Parisian notions ofeconomy even the best apartment houses dispense with elevator-boys andwith lights that burn up real money every hour of the night. Bypressing a button beside the door on entering, however, Lanyard couldhave obtained light in the hallways for five minutes, or long enough toenable any tenant to find his front-door and the key-hole therein; atthe end of which period the lamps would automatically have extinguishedthemselves. Or by entering a narrow-chested box of about the dimensionsof a generous coffin, and pressing a button bearing the number of thefloor at which he wished to alight, he could have been comfortablywafted aloft without sign of more human agency. But he prudentlyavailed himself of neither of these conveniences. Afoot and in completedarkness he made the ascent of five flights of winding stairs to thedoor of an apartment on the sixth floor. Here a flash from a pocketlamp located the key-hole; the key turned without sound; the door swungon silent hinges. 

Once inside, the adventurer moved more freely, with less precautionagainst noise. He was on known ground, and alone; the apartment, thoughfurnished, was untenanted, and would so remain as long as Lanyardcontinued to pay the rent from London under an assumed name. 

It was the convenience of this refuge and avenue of retreat, indeedwhich had dictated his choice of the rez-de-chaussée; for thesixth-floor flat possessed one invaluable advantage--a window on alevel with the roof of the adjoining building. 

Two minutes' examination sufficed to prove that here at least the Packhad not trespassed.... 

Five minutes later Lanyard picked the common lock of a door openingfrom the roof of an apartment house on the farthest corner of theblock, found his way downstairs, tapped the door of the conciergerie, chanted that venerable Open Sesame of Paris, "_Cordon, s'il vousplait!_" and was made free of the street by a worthy guardian toosleepy to challenge the identity of this late-departing guest. 

He walked three blocks, picked up a taxicab, and in ten minutes morewas set down at the Gare des Invalides. 

Passing through the station without pause, he took to the streetsafoot, following the boulevard St. Germain to the rue du Bac; a briefwalk up this time-worn thoroughfare brought him to the ample, open andunguarded porte-cochére of a court walled with beetling ancienttenements. 

When he had made sure that the courtyard was deserted, Lanyardaddressed himself to a door on the right; which to his knock swungpromptly ajar with a clicking latch. At the same time the adventurerwhipped from beneath his cloak a small black velvet visor and adjustedit to mask the upper half of his face. Then entering a narrow andodorous corridor, whose obscurity was emphasized by a lonely gutteringcandle, he turned the knob of the first door and walked into a small, ill-furnished room. 

A spare-bodied young man, who had been reading at a desk by the lightof an oil-lamp with a heavy green shade, rose and bowed courteously. 

"Good morning, monsieur, " he said with the cordiality of one who greetsan acquaintance of old standing. "Be seated, " he added, indicating anarm-chair beside the desk. "It seems long since one has had the honourof a call from monsieur. "

"That is so, " Lanyard admitted, sitting down. 

The young man followed suit. The lamplight, striking across his facebeneath the greenish penumbra of the shade, discovered a countenance ofHebraic cast. 

"Monsieur has something to show me, eh?"

"But naturally. "

Lanyard's reply just escaped a suspicion of curtness: as who shouldsay, what did you expect? He was puzzled by something strange and newin the attitude of this young man, a trace of reserve andconstraint.... 

They had been meeting from time to time for several years, conductingtheir secret and lawless business according to a formula invented byBourke and religiously observed by Lanyard. A note or telegram ofinnocent superficial intent, addressed to a certain member of a leadingfirm of jewellers in Amsterdam, was the invariable signal forconferences such as this; which were invariably held in the same place, at an hour indeterminate between midnight and dawn, between on the onehand this intelligent, cultivated and well-mannered young Jew, and onthe other hand the thief in his mask. 

In such wise did the Lone Wolf dispose of his loot, at all events ofthe bulk thereof; other channels were, of course, open to him, but noneso safe; and with no other receiver of stolen goods could he hope tomake such fair and profitable deals. 

Now inevitably in the course of this long association, though eachremained in ignorance of his confederate's identity, these two had cometo feel that they knew each other fairly well. Not infrequently, whentheir business had been transacted, Lanyard would linger an hour withthe agent, chatting over cigarettes: both, perhaps, a little thrilledby the piquancy of the situation; for the young Jew was the only manwho had ever wittingly met the Lone Wolf face to face.... 

Why then this sudden awkwardness and embarrassment on the part of theagent?

Lanyard's eyes narrowed with suspicion. 

In silence he produced a jewel-case of morocco leather and handed itover to the Jew, then settled back in his chair, his attitude one oflounging, but his mind as quick with distrust as the fingers that, under cover of his cloak, rested close to a pocket containing hisautomatic. 

Accepting the box with a little bow, the Jew pressed the catch anddiscovered its contents. But the richness of the treasure thusdisclosed did not seem to surprise him; and, indeed, he had more thanonce been introduced with no more formality to plunder of far greatervalue. Fitting a jeweller's glass to his eye, he took up one afteranother of the pieces and examined them under the lamplight. Presentlyhe replaced the last, shut down the cover of the box, turned athoughtful countenance to Lanyard, and made as if to speak, buthesitated. 

"Well?" the adventurer demanded impatiently. 

"This, I take it, " said the Jew absently, tapping the box, "is thejewellery of Madame Omber. "

"_I_ took it, " Lanyard retorted good-naturedly--"not to put too fine apoint upon it!"

"I am sorry, " the other said slowly. 

"Yes?"

"It is most unfortunate... "

"May one enquire what is most unfortunate?"

The Jew shrugged and with the tips of his fingers gently pushed the boxtoward his customer. "This makes me very unhappy, " he admitted: "but Ihave no choice in the matter, monsieur. As the agent of my principals Iam instructed to refuse you an offer for these valuables. "

"Why?"

Again the shrug, accompanied by a deprecatory grimace: "That isdifficult to say. No explanation was made me. My instructions weresimply to keep this appointment as usual, but to advise you it will beimpossible for my principals to continue their relations with you aslong as your affairs remain in their present status. "

"Their present status?" Lanyard repeated. "What does that mean, if youplease?"

"I cannot say monsieur. I can only repeat that which was said to me. "

After a moment Lanyard rose, took the box, and replaced it in hispocket. "Very well, " he said quietly. "Your principals, of course, understand that this action on their part definitely ends ourrelations, rather than merely interrupts them at their whim?"

"I am desolated, monsieur, but ... One must assume that they haveconsidered everything. You understand, it is a matter in which I amwholly without discretion, I trust?"

"O quite!" Lanyard assented carelessly. He held out his hand. "Good-bye, my friend. "

The Jew shook hands warmly. 

"Good night, monsieur--and the best of luck!"

There was significance in his last words that Lanyard did not troubleto analyze. Beyond doubt, the man knew more than he dared admit. Andthe adventurer told himself he could shrewdly surmise most of thatwhich the other had felt constrained to leave unspoken. 

Pressure from some quarter had been brought to bear upon that eminentlyrespectable firm of jewel dealers in Amsterdam to induce them todiscontinue their clandestine relations with the Lone Wolf, profitablethough these must have been. 

Lanyard believed he could name the quarter whence this pressure wasbeing exerted, but before going further or coming to any momentousdecision, he was determined to know to a certainty who were arrayedagainst him and how much importance he need attach to their antagonism. If he failed in this, it would be the fault of the other side, not hisfor want of readiness to accept its invitation. 

In brief, he didn't for an instant contemplate abandoning either hisrigid rule of solitude or his chosen career without a fight; but hepreferred not to fight in the dark. 

Anger burned in him no less hotly than chagrin. It could hardly beotherwise with one who, so long suffered to go his way without let orhindrance, now suddenly, in the course of a few brief hours, foundhimself brought up with a round turn--hemmed in and menaced on everyside by secret opposition and hostility. 

He no longer feared to be watched; and the very fact that, as far as hecould see, he wasn't watched, only added fuel to his resentment, demonstrating as it did so patently the cynical assurance of the Packthat they had him cornered, without alternative other than to supplehimself to their will. 

To the driver of the first taxicab he met, Lanyard said "L'Abbaye, "then shutting himself within the conveyance, surrendered to the mostmorose reflections. 

Nothing of this mood was, however, apparent in his manner on alighting. He bore a countenance of amiable insouciance through the portals ofthis festal institution whose proudest boast and--incidentally--soleclaim to uniquity is that it never opens its doors before midnight norcloses them before dawn. 

He had moved about with such celerity since entering his flat on therue Roget that it was even now only two o'clock; an hour at whichrevelry might be expected to have reached its apogee in this, thesoi-disant "smartest" place in Paris. 

A less sophisticated adventurer might have been flattered by thecordiality of his reception at the hands of that arbiter elegantiarumthe maitre-d'hôtel. 

"Ah-h, Monsieur Lanya_rrr_! But it is long since we have been sofavoured. However, I have kept your table for you. "

"Have you, though?"

"Could it be otherwise, after receipt of your honoured order?"

"No, " said Lanyard coolly, "I presume not, if you value your peace ofmind. "

"Monsieur is alone?" This with an accent of disappointment. 

"Temporarily, it would seem so. "

"But this way, if you please.... "

In the wake of the functionary, Lanyard traversed that frowsy anteroomwhere doubtful wasters are herded on suspicion in company with thecorps of automatic Bacchanalians and figurantes, to the mainrestaurant, the inner sanctum toward which the naïve soul of thetravel-bitten Anglo-Saxon aspires so ardently. 

It was not a large room; irregularly octagonal in shape, lined withwall-seats behind a close-set rank of tables; better lighted than mostParisian restaurants, that is to say, less glaringly; abominablyventilated; the open space in the middle of the floor reserved for ahandful of haggard young professional dancers, their stunted bodiesmore or less costumed in brilliant colours, footing it with all thevivacity to be expected of five-francs per night per head; the tablesoccupied by parties Anglo-Saxon and French in the proportion of fiveto one, attended by a company of bored and apathetic waiters; a stringorchestra ragging incessantly; a vicious buck-nigger on a dais shiningwith self-complacence while he vamped and shouted "_Waitin' foh th'Robuht E. Lee_"... 

Lanyard permitted himself to be penned in a corner behind a table, ordered champagne not because he wanted it but because it wasetiquette, suppressed a yawn, lighted a cigarette, and reviewed theassemblage with a languid but shrewd glance. 

He saw only the company of every night; for even in the off-seasonthere are always enough English-speaking people in Paris to make itpossible for L'Abbaye Thêléme to keep open with profit: theinevitable assortment of respectable married couples with friends, the men chafing and wondering if possibly all this might seem lessunattractive were they foot-loose and fancy-free, the women contrivingto appear at ease with varying degrees of success, but one and allflushed with dubiety; the sprinkling of demi-mondaines not in theleast concerned about _their_ social status; the handful of peoplewho, having brought their fun with them, were having the good timethey would have had anywhere; the scattering of plain drunks inevening dress.... Nowhere a face that Lanyard recognized definitely:no Mr. Bannon, no Comte Remy de Morbihan.... 

He regarded this circumstance, however, with more vexation thansurprise: De Morbihan would surely show up in time; meanwhile, it wasannoying to be obliged to wait, to endure this martyrdom of ennui. 

He sipped his wine sparingly, without relish, considering the singlesubsidiary fact which did impress him with some wonder--that he wasbeing left severely to himself; something which doesn't often fall tothe lot of the unattached male at L'Abbaye. Evidently an order hadbeen issued with respect to him. Ordinarily he would have beengrateful: to-night he was merely irritated: such neglect rendered himconspicuous.... 

The fixed round of delirious divertissement unfolded as per schedule. The lights were lowered to provide a melodramatic atmosphere for thatstartling novelty, the Apache Dance. The coon shouted stridently. Thedancers danced bravely on their poor, tired feet. An odious dwarfcreature in a miniature outfit of evening clothes toddled from table totable, offensively soliciting stray francs--but shied from the gleam inLanyard's eyes. Lackeys made the rounds, presenting each guest with ahandful of coloured, feather-weight celluloid balls, with which tobombard strangers across the room. The inevitable shamefaced Englishmandeparted in tow of an overdressed Frenchwoman with pride of conquest inher smirk. The equally inevitable alcoholic was dug out from under histable and thrown into a cab. An American girl insisted on climbing upona table to dance, but swayed and had to be helped down, gigglingfoolishly. A Spanish dancing girl was afforded a clear floor for herspecialty, which consisted in singing several verses understood bynobody, the choruses emphasized by frantic assaults on the hair ofseveral variously surprised, indignant, and flattered maleguests--among them Lanyard, who submitted with resignation.... 

 And then, just when he was on the point of consigning the Pack to thedevil for inflicting upon him such cruel and inhuman punishment, theSpanish girl picked her way through the mob of dancers who invaded thefloor promptly on her withdrawal, and paused beside his table. 

"You're not angry, mon coco?" she pleaded with a provocative smile. 

Lanyard returned a smiling negative. 

"Then I may sit down with you and drink a glass of your wine?"

"Can't you see I've been saving the bottle for you?"

The woman plumped herself promptly into the chair opposite theadventurer. He filled her glass. 

"But you are not happy to-night?" she demanded, staring over the brimas she sipped. 

"I am thoughtful, " he said. 

"And what does that mean?"

"I am saddened to contemplate the infirmities of my countrymen, theseAmericans who can't rest in Paris until they find some place as deadlyas any Broadway boasts, these English who adore beautiful Paris solelybecause here they may continue to get drunk publicly after half-pasttwelve!"

"Ah, then it's la barbe, is it not?" said the girl, gingerly strokingher faded, painted cheek. 

"It is true: I am bored. "

"Then why not go where you're wanted?" She drained her glass at a gulpand jumped up, swirling her skirts. "Your cab is waiting, monsieur--and perhaps you will find it more amusing with that Pack!"

Flinging herself into the arms of another girl, she swung away, grinning impishly at Lanyard over her partner's shoulder. 

VIII

THE HIGH HAND

Evidently his first move toward departure was signalled; for as hepassed out through L'Abbaye's doors the carriage-porter darted forwardand saluted. 

"Monsieur Lanyarr'?"

"Yes?"

"Monsieur's car is waiting. "

"Indeed?" Lanyard surveyed briefly a handsome black limousine that, atpause beside the curb, was champing its bits in the most spiritedfashion. Then he smiled appreciatively. "All the same, I thank you forthe compliment, " he said, and forthwith tipped the porter. 

But before entrusting himself to this gratuitous conveyance, he puthimself to the trouble of inspecting the chauffeur--a capable-lookingmechanic togged out in a rich black livery which, though relieved by avast amount of silk braiding, was like the car guiltless of any sortof insignia. 

"I presume you know where I wish to go, my man?"

The chauffeur touched his cap: "But naturally, monsieur. "

"Then take me there, the quickest way you know. "

Nodding acknowledgement of the porter's salute, Lanyard sankgratefully back upon uncommonly luxurious upholstery. The fatigue ofthe last thirty-six hours was beginning to tell on him a bit, thoughhis youth was still so vital, so instinct with strength and vigour, that he could go as long again without sleep if need be. 

None the less he was glad of this opportunity to snatch a few minutes'rest by way of preparation against the occult culmination of thisadventure. No telling what might ensue of this violation of all thoseprinciples which had hitherto conserved his welfare! And heentertained a gloomy suspicion that he would be inclined to nameanother ass, who proposed as he did to beard this Pack in its den withnothing more than his wits and an automatic pistol to protect tenthousand-francs, the jewels of Madame Omber, the Huysman plans, and(possibly) his life. 

However, he stood committed to his folly, if folly it were: he wouldplay the game as it lay. 

As for curiosity concerning his immediate destination, there waslittle enough of that in his temper; a single glance round on leavingthe car would fix his whereabouts beyond dispute, so thorough was hisknowledge of Paris. 

He contemplated briefly, with admiration, the simplicity with whichthat affair at L'Abbaye had been managed, finding no just cause tosuspect anyone there of criminal complicity in the plans of the Pack:a forged order for a table to the maitre-d'hotel, ten francs to thecarriage-porter and twenty more to the dancing woman to play parts ina putative practical joke--and the thing had been arranged withoutimplicating a soul!... 

Of a sudden, ending a ride much shorter than Lanyard would have liked, the limousine swung in toward a curb. 

Bending forward, he unlatched the door and, glancing through thewindow, uttered a grunt of profound disgust. 

If this were the best that Pack could do... !

He had hoped for something a trifle more original from men with witand imagination enough to plot the earlier phases of this intrigue. 

The car had pulled up in front of an institution which he knewwell--far too well, indeed, for his own good. 

None the less, he consented to get out. 

"Sure you've come to the right place?" he asked the chauffeur. 

Two fingers touching the visor of his cap: "But certainly, monsieur!"

"Oh, all right!" Lanyard grumbled resignedly; and tossing the man afive-franc piece, applied his knuckles to the door of an outwardlycommonplace hôtel particulier in the rue Chaptal between the impasseof the Grand Guignol and the rue Pigalle. 

Now the neophyte needs the introduction of a trusted sponsor before hecan win admission to the club-house of the exclusive Circle of Friendsof Humanity; but Lanyard's knock secured him prompt and unquestionedright of way. The unfortunate fact is, he was a member in the best ofstanding; for this society of pseudo-altruistic aims was nothing morenor less than one of those several private gambling clubs of Pariswhich the French Government tolerates more or less openly, despiteadequate restrictive legislation; and gambling was Lanyard's rulingpassion--a legacy from Bourke no less than the rest of his professionalequipment. 

To every man his vice (the argument is Bourke's, in defence of hisfailing). And perhaps the least mischievous vice a professionalcracksman can indulge is that of gambling, since it can hardly drivehim to lengths more desperate than those whereby he gains a livelihood. 

In the esteem of Paris, Count Remy de Morbihan himself was scarcely amore light-hearted plunger than Monsieur Lanyard. 

Naturally, with this reputation, he was always free of the handsomesalons wherein the Friends of Humanity devoted themselves to roulette, auction bridge, baccarat and chemin-de-fer: and of this freedom he nowproceeded to avail himself, with his hat just a shade aslant on hishead, his hands in his pockets, a suspicion of a smile on his lipsand a glint of the devil in his eyes--in all an expression accuratelyreflecting the latest phase of his humour, which was become largely oneof contemptuous toleration, thanks to what he chose to consider anexhibition of insipid stupidity on the part of the Pack. 

Nor was this humour in any way modified when, in due course, heconfirmed anticipation by discovering Monsieur le Comte Remy deMorbihan lounging beside one of the roulette tables, watching the play, and now and again risking a maximum on his own account. 

A flash of animation crossed the unlovely mask of the Count when he sawLanyard approaching, and he greeted the adventurer with a gay littleflirt of his pudgy dark hand. 

"Ah, my friend!" he cried. "It is you, then, who have changed yourmind! But this is delightful!"

"And what has become of your American friend?" Asked the adventurer. 

"He tired quickly, that one, and packed himself off to Troyon's. Besure I didn't press him to continue the grand tour!"

"Then you really did wish to see me to-night?" Lanyard enquiredinnocently. 

"Always--always, my dear Lanyard!" the Count declared, jumping up. "But come, " he insisted: "I've a word for your private ear, if thesegentlemen will excuse us. "

"Do!" Lanyard addressed in a confidential manner those he knew at thetable, before turning away to the tug of the Count's hand on hisarm--"I think he means to pay up twenty pounds he owes me!"

Some derisive laughter greeted this sally. 

"I mean that, however, " Lanyard informed the other cheerfully as theymoved away to a corner where conversation without an audience waspossible--"you ruined that Bank of England note, you know. "

"Cheap at the price!" the Count protested, producing his bill-fold. "Five hundred francs for an introduction to Monsieur the Lone Wolf!"

"Are you joking?" Lanyard asked blankly--and with a magnificent gestureabolished the proffered banknote. 

"Joking? I! But surely you don't mean to deny--"

"My friend, " Lanyard interrupted, "before we assert or deny anything, let us gather the rest of the players round the table and deal from asealed deck. Meantime, let us rest on the understanding that I havefound, at one end, a message scrawled on a bank-note hidden in a secretplace, at the other end, yourself, Monsieur le Comte. Between andbeyond these points exists a mystery, of which one anticipateselucidation. "

"You shall have it, " De Morbihan promised. "But first, we must go tothose others who await us. "

"Not so fast!" Lanyard interposed. "What am I to understand? That youwish me to accompany you to the--ah--den of the Pack?"

"Where else?" De Morbihan grinned. 

"But where is that?"

"I am not permitted to say--"

"Still, one has one's eyes. Why not satisfy me here?"

"Your eyes, by your leave, monsieur, will be blindfolded. "

"Impossible. "

"Pardon--it is an essential--"

"Come, come, my friend: we are not in the Middle Ages!"

"I have no discretion, monsieur. My confrères--"

"I insist: there will be trust on both sides or no negotiations. "

"But I assure you, my dear friend--"

"My dear Count, it is useless: I am determined. Blindfold? I should saynot! This is not--need I remind you again?--the Paris of Balzac andthat wonderful Dumas of yours!"

"What do you propose, then?" De Morbihan enquired, worrying hismoustache. 

"What better place for the proposed conference than here?"

"But not here!"

"Why not? Everybody comes here: it will cause no gossip. I am here--Ihave come half-way; your friends must do as much on their part. "

"It is not possible.... "

"Then, I beg you, tender them my regrets. "

"Would you give us away?"

"Never that: one makes gifts to one's friends only. But my interest inyours is depreciating so rapidly that, should you delay much longer, itwill be on sale for the sum of two sous. "

"O--damn!" the Count complained peevishly. 

"With all the pleasure in life.... But now, " Lanyard went on, rising toend the interview, "you must forgive me for reminding you that themorning wanes apace. I shall be going home in another hour. "

De Morbihan shrugged. "Out of my great affection for you, " he purredvenomously, "I will do my possible. But I promise nothing. "

"I have every confidence in your powers of moral suasion, monsieur, "Lanyard assured him cheerfully. "Au revoir!"

And with this, not at all ill-pleased with himself, he strutted off toa table at which a high-strung session of chemin-de-fer was in process, possessed himself of a vacant chair, and in two minutes was soengrossed in the game that the Pack was quite forgotten. 

In fifteen minutes he had won thrice as many thousands of francs. Twenty minutes or half an hour later, a hand on his shoulder broke thegrip of his besetting passion. 

"Our table is made up, my friend, " De Morbihan announced with hisinextinguishable grin. "We're waiting for you. "

"Quite at your service. "

Settling his score and finding himself considerably better off than hehad imagined, he resigned his place gracefully, and suffered the Countto link arms and drag him away up the main staircase to the secondstorey, where smaller rooms were reserved for parties who preferred togamble privately. 

"So it appears you succeeded!" he chaffed his conductor good-humouredly. 

"I have brought you the mountain, " De Morbihan assented. 

"One is grateful for small miracles.... "

But De Morbihan wouldn't laugh at his own expense; for a moment, indeed, he seemed inclined to take umbrage at Lanyard's levity. But the suddensquaring of his broad shoulders and the hardening of his features wasquickly modified by an uneasy sidelong glance at his companion. Andthen they were at the door of the cabinet particulier. 

De Morbihan rapped, turned the knob, and stood aside, bowing politely. 

With a nod acknowledging the courtesy, Lanyard consented to precedehim, and entered a room of intimate proportions, furnished chiefly witha green-covered card-table and five easy-chairs, of which three wereoccupied--two by men in evening dress, the third by one in awell-tailored lounge suit of dark grey. 

Now all three men wore visors of black velvet. 

Lanyard looked from one to the other and chuckled quietly. 

With an aggrieved air De Morbihan launched into introductions:

"Messieurs, I have the honour to present to you our confrère, MonsieurLanyard, best known as 'The Lone Wolf. ' Monsieur Lanyard--the Councilof our Association, known to you as 'The Pack. '"

The three rose and bowed ceremoniously, Lanyard returned a cool, good-natured nod. Then he laughed again and more openly:

"A pack of knaves!"

"Monsieur doubtless feels at ease?" one retortedacidly. 

"In your company, Popinot? But hardly!" Lanyard returned in lightcontempt. 

The fellow thus indicated, a burly rogue of a Frenchman in rusty andbaggy evening clothes, started and flushed scarlet beneath his mask;but the man next him dropped a restraining hand upon his arm, andPopinot, with a shrug, sank back into his chair. 

"Upon my word!" Lanyard declared gracelessly, "it's as good as a play!Are you sure, Monsieur le Comte, there's no mistake--that these gaymasqueraders haven't lost their way to the stage of the Grand Guignol?"

"Damn!" muttered the Count. "Take care, my friend! You go too far!"

"You really think so? But you amaze me! You can't in reason expect meto take you seriously, gentlemen!"

"If you don't, it will prove serious business for you!" growled the onehe had called Popinot. 

"You mean that? But you are magnificent, all of you! We lack only thesolitary illumination of a candle-end--a grinning skull--a cup of bloodupon the table--to make the farce complete! But as it is.... Messieurs, you must be rarely uncomfortable, and feeling as foolish as you look, into the bargain! Moreover, I'm no child. ... Popinot, why notdisembarrass your amiable features? And you, Mr. Wertheimer, I'm sure, will feel more at ease with an open countenance--as the saying runs, "he said, nodding to the man beside Popinot. "As for this gentleman, "he concluded, eyeing the third, "I haven't the pleasure of hisacquaintance. "

With a short laugh, Wertheimer unmasked and exposed a face of decidedlyEnglish type, fair and well-modelled, betraying only the faintesttraces of Semitic cast to account for his surname. And with thisexample, Popinot snatched off his own black visor--and glared atLanyard: in his shabby dress, the incarnate essence of bourgeoisieoutraged. But the third, he of the grey lounge suit, remainedmotionless; only his eyes clashed coldly with the adventurer's. 

He seemed a man little if at all Lanyard's senior, and built upon muchthe same lines. A close-clipped black moustache ornamented his upperlip. His chin was square and strong with character. The cut of hisclothing was conspicuously neither English nor Continental. 

"I don't know you, sir, " Lanyard continued slowly, puzzled to accountfor a feeling of familiarity with this person, whom he could have swornhe had never met before. 

"But you won't let your friends here outdo you in civility, I trust?"

"If you mean you want me to unmask, I won't, " the other returnedbrusquely, in fair French but with a decided transatlantic intonation. 

"American, eh?"

"Native-born, if it interests you. "

"Have I ever met you before?"

"You have not. "

"My dear Count, " Lanyard said, turning to De Morbihan, "do me thefavour to introduce this gentleman. "

"Your dear Count will do nothing like that, Mr. Lanyard. If you need aname to call me by, Smith's good enough. "

The incisive force of his enunciation assorted consistently with thegeneral habit of the man. Lanyard recognized a nature no more pliablethan his own. Idle to waste time bickering with this one.... 

"It doesn't matter, " he said shortly; and drawing back a chair, satdown. "If it did, I should insist--or else decline the honour ofreceiving the addresses of this cosmopolitan committee. Truly, messieurs, you flatter me. Here we have Mr. Wertheimer, representingthe swell-mobsmen across Channel; Monsieur le Comte standing for thegratin of Paris; Popinot, spokesman for our friends the Apaches; andthe well-known Mr. Goodenough Smith, ambassador of the gun-men of NewYork--no doubt. I presume one is to understand you wait upon me asrepresenting the fine flower of the European underworld?"

"You're to understand that I, for one, don't relish your impudence, "the stout Popinot snapped. 

"Sorry.... But I have already indicated my inability to take youseriously. "

"Why not?" the American demanded ominously. "You'd be sore enough if wetook you as a joke, wouldn't you?"

"You misapprehend, Mr. --ah--Smith: it is my first aim and wish that youdo not take me in any manner, shape or form. It is you, remember, whorequested this interview and--er--dressed your parts so strikingly!"

"What are we to understand by that?" De Morbihan interposed. 

"This, messieurs--if you must know. " Lanyard dropped for the moment histone of raillery and bent forward, emphasizing his points by tappingthe table with a forefinger. "Through some oversight of mine orcleverness of yours--I can't say which--perhaps both--you havesucceeded in penetrating my secret. What then? You become envious of mysuccess. In short, I stand in your light: I'm always getting away withsomething you might have lifted if you'd only had wit enough to thinkof it first. As your American accomplice, Mr. Mysterious Smith, wouldsay, I 'cramp your style. '"

"You learned that on Broadway, " the American commented shrewdly. 

"Possibly.... To continue: so you get together, and bite your nailsuntil you concoct a plan to frighten me into my profits. I've nodoubt you're prepared to allow me to retain one-half the proceeds ofmy operations, should I elect to ally myself with you?"

"That's the suggestion we are empowered to make, " De Morbihanadmitted. 

"In other words, you need me. You say to yourselves: 'We'll pretendto be the head of a criminal syndicate, such as the silly novelistsare forever writing about, and we'll threaten to put him out ofbusiness unless he comes to our terms. ' But you overlook one importantfact: that you are not mentally equipped to get away with this amusingimpersonation! What! Do you expect me to accept you as leading spiritsof a gigantic criminal system--you, Popinot, who live by standingbetween the police and your murderous rats of Belleville, or you, Wertheimer, sneak-thief and black-mailer of timid women, or you, DeMorbihan, because you eke out your income by showing a handful ofsecond-storey men where to seek plunder in the homes of your friends!"

He made a gesture of impatience, and lounged back to wait the answerto this indictment. His gaze, ranging the four faces, encountered butone that was not darkly flushed with resentment; and this was theAmerican's. 

"Aren't you overlooking me?" this last suggested gently. 

"On the contrary: I refuse to recognize you as long as you lackcourage to show your face. "

"As you will, my friend, " the American chuckled. "Make your profit outof that any way you like. "

Lanyard sat up again: "Well, I've stated your case, messieurs. Itamounts to simple, clumsy blackmail. I'm to split my earnings withyou, or you'll denounce me to the police. That's about it, isn't it?"

"Not of necessity, " De Morbihan softly purred, twisting his moustache. 

"For my part, " Popinot declared hotly, "I engage that Monsieur of theHigh Hand, here, will either work with us or conduct no moreoperations in Paris. "

"Or in New York, " the American amended. 

"England is yet to be heard from, " Lanyard suggested mockingly. 

To this Wertheimer replied, almost with diffidence: "If you ask me, Idon't think you'd find it so jolly pleasant over there, if you mean tocut up nasty at this end. "

"Then what am I to infer? If you're afraid to lay an information againstme--and it wouldn't be wise, I admit--you'll merely cause me to beassassinated, eh?"

"Not of necessity, " the Count murmured in the same thoughtful tone andmanner--as one holding a hidden trump. 

"There are so many ways of arranging these matters, "Wertheimer ventured. 

"None the less, if I refuse, you declare war?"

"Something like that, " the American admitted. 

"In that case--I am now able to state my position definitely. " Lanyardgot up and grinned provokingly down at the group. "You can--all four ofyou--go plumb to hell!"

"My dear friend!" the Count cried, shocked--"you forget--"

"I forget nothing!" Lanyard cut in coldly--"and my decision is final. Consider yourselves at liberty to go ahead and do your damnedest! Butdon't forget that it is you who are the aggressors. Already you've hadthe insolence to interfere with my arrangements: you began offensiveoperations before you declared war. So now if you're hit beneath thebelt, you mustn't complain: you've asked for it!"

"Now just what _do_ you mean by that?" the American drawled ironically. 

"I leave you to figure it out for yourselves. But I will say this: Iconfidently expect you to decide to live and let live, and shall besorry, as you'll certainly be sorry, if you force my hand. "

He opened the door, turned, and saluted them with sarcastic punctilio. 

"I have the honour to bid adieu to Messieurs the Council of--'ThePack'!"

IX

DISASTER

Having fulfilled his purpose of making himself acquainted with thepersonnel of the opposition, Lanyard slammed the door in its face, thrust his hands in his pockets, and sauntered down stairs, chuckling, his nose in the air, on the best of terms with himself. 

True, the fat was in the fire and well a-blaze: he had to look tohimself now, and go warily in the shadow of their enmity. But it wassomething to have faced down those four, and he wasn't seriouslyimpressed by any one of them. 

Popinot, perhaps, was the most dangerous in Lanyard's esteem; avindictive animal, that Popinot; and the creatures he controlled, amurderous lot, drug-ridden, drink bedevilled, vicious little rats ofBelleville, who'd knife a man for the price of an absinthe. But Popinotwouldn't move without leave from De Morbihan, and unless Lanyard'scalculations were seriously miscast, De Morbihan would restrain bothhimself and his associates until thoroughly convinced Lanyard wasimpregnable against every form of persuasion. Murder was something abit out of De Morbihan's line--something, at least, which he might becounted on to hold in reserve. And by the time he was ready to employit, Lanyard would be well beyond his reach. Wertheimer, too, woulddeprecate violence until all else failed; his half-caste type was ascowardly as it was blackguard; and cowards kill only impulsively, before they've had time to weigh consequences. There remained "Smith, "enigma; a man apparently gifted with both intelligence andcharacter.... But if so, what the deuce was _he_ doing in such company?

Still, there he was: and the association damned him beyondconsideration. His sorts were all of a piece, beneath the considerationof men of spirit.... 

At this point, the self-complacence bred of his contempt for Messrs. De Morbihan et Cie. Bred in its turn a thought that brought theadventurer up standing. 

The devil! Who was he, Michael Lanyard, that held himself above suchvermin, yet lived in such a way as practically to invite theiradvances? What right was his to resent their opening the door toconfraternity, as long as he trod paths so closely parallel to theirsthat only a sophist might discriminate them? What comfortingdistinction was to be drawn between on the one hand a blackmailer likeWertheimer, a chevalier-d'industrie like De Morbihan, or a patron ofApaches like Popinot, and on the other himself whose bread was eaten inthe sweat of thievery?

He drew a long face; whistled softly; shook his head; and smiled a wrysmile. 

"Glad I didn't think of that two minutes ago, or I'd never have had thecheek... "

Without warning, incongruously and, in his understanding, inexplicably, he found himself beset by recurrent memory of the girl, Lucia Bannon. 

For an instant he saw her again, quite vividly, as last he had seenher: turning at the door of her bed-chamber to look back at him, avision of perturbing charm in her rose-silk dressing-gown, with richhair loosened, cheeks softly glowing, eyes brilliant with an emotionillegible to her one beholder.... 

What had been the message of those eyes, flashed down the dimly lightedlength of that corridor at Troyon's, ere she vanished?

Adieu? Or au revoir? ... 

She had termed him, naïvely enough, and a gentleman. 

But if she knew--suspected--even dreamed--that he was what he was?... 

He shook his head again, but now impatiently, with a scowl and agrumble:

"What's the matter with me anyway? Mooning over a girl I never sawbefore to-night! As if it matters a whoop in Hepsidam what shethinks!... Or is it possible I'm beginning to develop a rudimentaryconscience, at this late day? Me!... "

If there were anything in this hypothesis, the growing-pains of thatlate-blooming conscience were soon enough numbed by the hypnotic spellof clattering chips, an ivory ball singing in an ebony race, andcroaking croupiers. 

For Lanyard's chair at the table of chemin-de-fer had been filled byanother and, too impatient to wait a vacancy, he wandered on to thesalon dedicated to roulette, tested his luck by staking a note of fivehundred francs on the black, won, and incontinently subsided into achair and an oblivion that endured for the space of three-quarters ofan hour. 

At the end of that period he found himself minus his heavy winnings atchemin-de-fer and ten thousand francs of his reserve fund to boot. 

By way of lining for his pockets there remained precisely the sum whichhe had brought into Paris that same evening, less subsequent generaldisbursements. 

The experience was nothing novel in his history. He rose less resentfulthan regretful that his ill-luck obliged him to quit just when play wasmost interesting, and resignedly sought the cloak-room for his coat andhat. 

And there he found De Morbihan--again!--standing all garmented for thestreet, mouthing a huge cigar and wearing a look of impatientdiscontent. 

"At last!" he cried in an aggrieved tone as Lanyard appeared in theoffing. "You do take your time, my friend!"

Lanyard smothered with a smile whatever emotion was his of the moment. 

"I didn't imagine you really meant to wait for me, " he parried withdouble meaning, both to humour De Morbihan and hoodwink the attendant. 

"What do you think?" retorted the Count with asperity--"that I'mwilling to stand by and let you moon round Paris at this hour of themorning, hunting for a taxicab that isn't to be found and runningGod-knows-what risk of being stuck up by some misbegotten Apache? But Ishould say not! I mean to take you home in my car, though it cost me ahalf-hour of beauty sleep not lightly to be forfeited at my age!"

The significance that underlay the semi-humourous petulance of thelittle man was not wasted. 

"You're most amiable, Monsieur le Comte!" Lanyard observedthoughtfully, while the attendant produced his hat and coat. "So now, if you're ready, I won't delay you longer. "

In another moment they were outside the club-house, its doors shutbehind them, while before them, at the curb, waited that same handsomeblack limousine which had brought the adventurer from L'Abbaye. 

Two swift glances, right and left, showed him an empty street, bare ofhint of danger. 

"One moment, monsieur!" he said, detaining the Count with a touch onhis sleeve. "It's only right that I should advise you ... I'm armed. "

"Then you're less foolhardy than one feared. If such things interestyou, I don't mind admitting I carry a life-preserver of my own. Butwhat of that? Is one eager to go shooting at this time of night, forthe sheer fun of explaining to sergents de ville that one has beenattacked by Apaches? ... Providing always one lives to explain!"

"It's as bad as that, eh?"

"Enough to make me loath to linger at your side in a lighted doorway!"

Lanyard laughed in his own discomfiture. "Monsieur le Comte, " said he, "there's a dash in you of what your American pal, Mysterious Smith, would call sporting blood, that commands my unstinted admiration. Ithank you for your offered courtesy, and beg leave to accept. "

De Morbihan replied with a grunt of none too civil intonation, instructed the chauffeur "To Troyon's, " and followed Lanyard into thecar. 

"Courtesy!" he repeated, settling himself with a shake. "That makesnothing. If I regarded my own inclinations, I'd let you go to the devilas quick as Popinot's assassins could send you there!"

"This is delightful!" Lanyard protested. "First you must see me home tosave my life, and then you tell me your inclinations consign me to apremature grave. Is there an explanation, possibly?"

"On your person, " said the Count, sententious. 

"Eh?"

"You carry your reason with you, my friend--in the shape of the Omberloot. "

"Assuming you are right--"

"You never went to the rue du Bac, monsieur, without those jewels: andI have had you under observation ever since. "

"What conceivable interest, " Lanyard pursued evenly, "do you fancyyou've got in the said loot?"

 "Enough, at least, to render me unwilling to kiss it adieu by leavingyou to the mercies of Popinot. You don't imagine I'd ever hear of itagain, when his Apaches had finished with you?"

 "Ah!... So, after all, your so-called organization isn't founded onthat reciprocal trust so essential to the prosperity ofsuch--enterprises!"

"Amuse yourself as you will with your inferences, my friend, " the Countreturned, unruffled; "but don't forget my advice: pull wide of Popinot!"

"A vindictive soul, eh?"

"One may say that. "

"You can't hold him?"

"That one? No fear! You were anything but wise to bait him as you did. "

"Perhaps. It's purely a matter of taste in associates. "

"If I were the fool you think me, " mused the Count "I'd resent thatinnuendo. As it happens, I'm not. At least, I can wait before callingyou to account. "

"And meantime profit by your patience?"

"But naturally. Haven't I said as much?"

"Still, I'm perplexed. I can't imagine how you reckon to declareyourself in on the Omber loot. "

"All in good time: if you were wise, you'd hand the stuff over to mehere and now, and accept what I chose to give you in return. Butinasmuch as you're the least wise of men, you must have your lesson. "

"Meaning--?"

"The night brings counsel: you'll have time to think things over. Byto-morrow you'll be coming to offer me those jewels in exchange forwhat influence I have in certain quarters. "

"With your famous friend, the Chief of the Sûreté, eh?"

"Possibly. I am known also at La Tour Pointue. "

"I confess I don't follow you, unless you mean to turn informer. "

"Never that. "

"It's a riddle, then?"

"For the moment only.... But I will say this: it will be futile, yourattempting to escape Paris; Popinot has already picketted every outlet. Your one hope resides in me; and I shall be at home to you until midnightto-morrow--to-day, rather. "

Impressed in spite of himself, Lanyard stared. But the Count maintainedan imperturbable manner, looking straight ahead. Such calm assurancewould hardly be sheer bluff. 

"I must think this over, " Lanyard mused aloud. 

"Pray don't let me hinder you, " the Count begged with mild sarcasm. "Ihave my own futile thoughts.... "

Lanyard laughed quietly and subsided into a reverie which, undisturbedby De Morbihan, endured throughout the brief remainder of their drive;for, thanks to the smallness of the hour, the streets were practicallydeserted and offered no obstacle to speed; while the chauffeur wasdoubtless eager for his bed. 

As they drew near Troyon's, however, Lanyard sat up and jealouslyreconnoitered both sides of the way. 

"Surely you don't expect to be kept out?" the Count asked dryly. "Butthat just shows how little you appreciate our good Popinot. He'll neverobject to your locking yourself up where he knows he can find you--butonly to your leaving without permission!"

"Something in that, perhaps. Still, I make it a rule to give myselfthe benefit of every doubt. "

There was, indeed, no sign of ambush that he could detect in anyquarter, nor any indication that Popinot's Apaches were postedthereabouts. Nevertheless, Lanyard produced his automatic and freedthe safety-catch before opening the door. 

"A thousand thanks, my dear Count!"

"For what? Doing myself a service? But you make me feel ashamed!"

"I know, " agreed Lanyard, depreciatory; "but that's the way I am--alittle devil--you really can't trust me! Adieu, Monsieur le Comte. "

"Au revoir, monsieur!"

Lanyard saw the car round the corner before turning to the entrance ofTroyon's, keeping his weather-eye alert the while. But when the car wasgone, the street seemed quite deserted and as soundless as though ithad been the thoroughfare of some remote village rather than an arteryof the pulsing old heart of Paris. 

Yet he wasn't satisfied. He was as little susceptible to psychicadmonition as any sane and normal human organism, but he was just thenstrongly oppressed by intuitive perception that there was somethingradically amiss in his neighbourhood. Whether or not the result of theCount's open intimations and veiled hints working upon a naturesensitized by excitement and fatigue, he felt as though he had steppedfrom the cab into an atmosphere impregnated to saturation with namelessmenace. And he even shivered a bit, perhaps because of the chill inthat air of early morning, perhaps because a shadow of premonition hadfallen athwart his soul.... 

Whatever its cause, he could find no reason for this; and shakinghimself impatiently, pressed a button that rang a bell by the ear ofthe concierge, heard the latch click, thrust the door wide, andre-entered Troyon's. 

Here reigned a silence even more marked than that of the street, asilence as heavy and profound as the grave's, so that sheer instinctprompted Lanyard to tread lightly as he made his way down the passageand across the courtyard toward the stairway; and in that hush thecreak of a greaseless hinge, when the concierge opened the door of hisquarters to identify this belated guest, seemed little less than aprofanity. 

Lanyard paused and delved into his pockets, nodding genially to theblowsy, sleepy old face beneath the guardian's nightcap. 

"Sorry to disturb monsieur, " he said politely, further impoverishinghimself in the sum of five francs in witness to the sincerity of hisregret. 

"I thank monsieur; but what need to consider me? It's my duty. And whatis one interruption more or less? All night they come and go.... "

"Good night, monsieur, " Lanyard cut short the old man's garrulity; andwent on up the stairs, now a little wearily, of a sudden newlyconscious of his vast and enervating fatigue. 

He thought longingly of bed, yawned involuntarily and, reaching hisdoor, fumbled the key in a most unprofessional way; there were weightsupon his eyelids, a heaviness in his brain.... 

But the key met with no resistance from the wards; and in a trice, appreciating this fact, Lanyard was wide-awake again. 

No question but that he had locked the door securely, on leaving afterhis adventure with the charming somnambulist.... 

Had she, then, taken a whim to his room?

Or was this but proof of what he had anticipated in the beginning--abit of sleuthing on the part of Roddy?

He entertained little doubt as to the correctness of this lattersurmise, as he threw the door open and stepped into the room, his firstaction being to grasp the electric switch and twist it smartly. 

But no light answered. 

"Hello!" he exclaimed softly, remembering that the lights could readilyhave been turned off at the bulbs. "What's the good of that?"

In the same breath he started violently, and swung about. 

The door had closed behind him, swiftly but gently, eclipsing the faintlight from the hall, leaving what amounted to stark darkness. 

His first impression was that the intruder--Roddy or whoever--haddarted past him and out, pulling the door to in that act. 

Before he could consciously revise this misconception he was fightingfor his life. 

So unexpected, so swift and sudden fell the assault, that he was caughtcompletely off guard: between the shutting of the door and an onslaughtwhose violence sent him reeling to the wall, the elapsed time couldhave been measured by the fluttering of an eyelash. 

And then two powerful arms were round him, pinioning his hands to hissides, his feet were tripped up, and he was thrown with a force thatfairly jarred his teeth, half-stunning him. 

For a breath he lay dazed, struggling feebly; not long, but long enoughto enable his antagonist to shift his hold and climb on top of his body, where he squatted, bearing down heavily with a knee on either ofLanyard's forearms, hands encircling his neck, murderous thumbs digginginto his windpipe. 

He revived momentarily, pulled himself together, and heaved mightily infutile effort to unseat the other. 

The sole outcome of this was a tightening pressure on his throat. 

The pain grew agonizing; Lanyard's breath was almost completely shutoff; he gasped vainly, with a rattling noise in his gullet; hiseyeballs started; a myriad coruscant lights danced and interlacedblindingly before them; in his ears there rang a roaring like the voiceof heavy surf breaking upon a rock-bound coast. 

And of a sudden he ceased to struggle and lay slack, passive in theother's hands. 

Only an instant longer was the clutch on his throat maintained. Bothhands left it quickly, one shifting to his head to turn and press itroughly cheek to floor. Simultaneously he was aware of the other handfumbling about his neck, and then of a touch of metal and the sting ofa needle driven into the flesh beneath his ear. 

That galvanized him; he came to life again in a twinkling, animate withthreefold strength and cunning. The man on his chest was thrown off asby a young earthquake; and Lanyard's right arm was no sooner free thanit shot out with blind but deadly accuracy to the point of hisassailant's jaw. A click of teeth was followed by a sickish grunt asthe man lurched over.... 

Lanyard found himself scrambling to his feet, a bit giddy perhaps, butstill sufficiently master of his wits to get his pistol out beforemaking another move. 

X

TURN ABOUT

The thought of Lanyard's pocket flash-lamp offering itself, immediatelyits wide circle of light enveloped his late antagonist. 

That one was resting on a shoulder, legs uncouthly a-sprawl, quitewithout movement of any perceptible sort; his face more thanhalf-turned to the floor, and masked into the bargain. 

Incredulously Lanyard stirred the body with a foot, holding his weaponpoised as though half-expecting it to quicken with instant and violentaction; but it responded in no way. 

With a nod of satisfaction, he shifted the light until it marked downthe nearest electric bulb, which proved, in line with his inference, tohave been extinguished by the socket key, while the heat of its bulbindicated that the current had been shut off only an instant before hisentrance. 

The light full up, he went back to the thug, knelt and, lifting thebody, turned it upon its back. 

Recognition immediately rewarded this manoeuvre: the masked faceupturned to the glare was that of the American who had made a fourth inthe concert of the Pack--"Mr. Smith, " Quickly unlatching the mask, Lanyard removed it; but the countenance thus exposed told little morethan he knew; he could have sworn he had never seen it before. None theless, something in its evil cast persistently troubled his memory, withthe same provoking and baffling effect that had attended their firstencounter. 

Already the American was struggling toward consciousness. His lips andeyelids twitched spasmodically, he shuddered, and his flexed musclesbegan to relax. In this process something fell from between the fingersof his right hand--something small and silver-bright that caughtLanyard's eye. 

Picking it up, he examined with interest a small hypodermic syringeloaded to the full capacity of its glass cylinder, plunger drawnback--all ready for instant service. 

It was the needle of this instrument that had pricked the skin ofLanyard's neck; beyond reasonable doubt it contained a soporific, ifnot exactly a killing dose of some narcotic drug--cocaine, at aventure. 

So it appeared that this agent of the Pack had been commissioned to putthe Lone Wolf to sleep for an hour or two or more--_perhaps_ notpermanently!--that he might be out of the way long enough for theiroccult purposes. 

He smiled grimly, fingering the hypodermic and eyeing the prostrate man. 

"Turn about, " he reflected, "is said to be fair play.... Well, why not?"

He bent forward, dug the needle into the wrist of the American and shotthe plunger home, all in a single movement so swift and deft that thedrug was delivered before the pain could startle the victim from hiscoma. 

As for that, the man came to quickly enough; but only to have hisclearing senses met and dashed by the muzzle of a pistol stamping acold ring upon his temple. 

"Lie perfectly quiet, my dear Mr. Smith, " Lanyard advised; "don't speakabove a whisper! Give the good dope a chance: it'll only need a moment, or I'm no judge and you're a careless highbinder! I'd like to know, however--if it's all the same to you--"

But already the injection was taking effect; the look of panic, whichhad drawn the features of the American and flickered from his eyes withdawning appreciation of his plight, was clouding, fading, blending intoone of daze and stupour. The eyelids flickered and lay still; the lipsmoved as if with urgent desire to speak, but were dumb; a longconvulsive sigh shook the American's body; and he rested with theimmobility of the dead, save for the slow but steady rise and fall ofhis bosom. 

Lanyard thoughtfully reviewed these phenomena. 

"Must kick like a mule, that dope!" he reflected. "Lucky it didn't getme before I guessed what was up! If I'd even suspected its strength, however, I'd have been less hasty: I could do with a little informationfrom Mr. Mysterious Stranger here!"

Suddenly conscious of a dry and burning throat, he rose and going tothe washstand drank deep and thirstily from a water-bottle; then sethimself resolutely to repair the disarray of his wits and consider whatwas best to be done. 

In his abstraction he wandered to a chair over whose back hung a lightdressing-gown of wine-coloured silk, which, because it would pack insmall compass, was in the habit of carrying with him on his travels. Lanyard had left this thrown across his bed; and he was wonderingsubconsciously what use the man had thought to make of it, that heshould have taken the trouble to shift it to the chair. 

But even as he laid hold of it, Lanyard dropped the garment in sheersurprise to find it damp and heavy in his grasp, sodden with viscidmoisture. And when, in a swift flash of intuition, he examined hisfingers, he discovered them discoloured with a faint reddish stain. 

Had the dye run? And how had the American come to dabble the garmentin water--to what end?

Then the shape of an object on the floor near his feet arrestedLanyard's questing vision. He stared, incredulous, moved forward, bentover and picked it up, clipping it gingerly between finger-tips. 

It was one of his razors--a heavy hollow-ground blade--and it was foulwith blood. 

With a low cry, smitten with awful understanding, Lanyard wheeled andstared fearfully at the door communicating with Roddy's room. 

It stood ajar an inch or two, its splintered lock accounted for by asmall but extremely efficient jointed steel jimmy which lay near thethreshold. 

Beyond the door ... Darkness ... Silence... 

Mustering up all his courage, the adventurer strode determinedly intothe adjoining room. 

The first flash of his hand-lamp discovered to him sickeningverification of his most dreadful apprehensions. 

Now he saw why his dressing-gown had been requisitioned--to protect abutcher's clothing. 

After a moment he returned, shut the door, and set his back against it, as if to bar out that reeking shambles. 

He was very pale, his face drawn with horror; and he was powerfullyshaken with nausea. 

The plot was damnably patent: Roddy proving a menace to the Pack andrequiring elimination, his murder had been decreed as well as that theblame for it should be laid at Lanyard's door. Hence the attempt todrug him, that he might not escape before police could be sent to findhim there. 

He could no longer doubt that De Morbihan had been left behind at theCircle of Friends of Harmony solely to detain him, if need be, andafford Smith time to finish his hideous job and set the trap for thesecond victim. 

And the plot had succeeded despite its partial failure, despite theswift reverse chance and Lanyard's cunning had meted out to the Pack'sagent. It was _his_ dressing-gown that was saturate with Roddy's blood, just as they were his gloves, pilfered from his luggage, which hadmeasurably protected the killer's hands, and which Lanyard had found inthe next room, stripped hastily off and thrown to the floor--twincrumpled wads of blood-stained chamois-skin. 

He had now little choice; he must either flee Paris and trust to hiswits to save him, or else seek De Morbihan and solicit his protection, his boasted influence in high quarters. 

But to give himself into the hands, to become an associate, of one whocould be party to so cowardly a Crime as this ... Lanyard told himselfhe would sooner pay the guillotine the penalty.... 

Consulting his watch, he found the hour to be no later than half-pastfour: so swiftly (truly treading upon one another's heels) events hadmoved since the incident of the somnambulist. 

This left at his disposal a fair two hours more of darkness: Novembernights are long and black in Paris; it would hardly be even moderatelylight before seven o'clock. But that were a respite none too long forLanyard's necessity; he must think swiftly in contemplation of instantaction were he to extricate himself without the Pack's knowledge andconsent. 

Granted, then, he must fly this stricken field of Paris. But how? DeMorbihan had promised that Popinot's creatures would guard everyoutlet; and Lanyard didn't doubt him. An attempt to escape the city byany ordinary channel would be to invite either denunciation to thepolice on the charge of murder, or one of those fatally expeditiousforms of assassination of which the Apaches are past-masters. 

He must and would find another way; but his decision was frightfullyhampered by lack of ready money; the few odd francs in his pocketwere no store for the war-chest demanded by this emergency. 

True, he had the Omber jewels; but they were not negotiable--not atleast in Paris. 

And the Huysman plans?

He pondered briefly the possibilities of the Huysman plans. 

In his fretting, pacing softly to and fro, at each turn he passed hisdressing-table, and chancing once to observe himself in its mirror, hestopped short, thunderstruck by something he thought to detect in thecounterfeit presentment of his countenance, heavy with fatigue as itwas, and haggard with contemplation of this appalling contretemps. 

And instantly he was back beside the American, studying narrowly thecontours of that livid mask. Here, then, was that resemblance which hadbaffled him; and now that he saw it, he could not deny that it wasunflatteringly close: feature for feature the face of the murdererreproduced his face, coarsened perhaps but recognizably a replica ofthat Michael Lanyard who confronted him every morning in hisshaving-glass, almost the only difference residing in the scrubby blackmoustache that shadowed the American's upper lip. 

After all, there was nothing wonderful in this; Lanyard's type was notuncommon; he would never have thought himself a distinguished figure. 

Before rising he turned out the pockets of his counterfeit. But thisprofited him little: the assassin had dressed for action withforethought to evade recognition in event of accident. Lanyardcollected only a cheap American watch in a rolled-gold case of a sortmanufactured by wholesale, a briquet, a common key that might fit anyhotel door, a broken paper of Régie cigarettes, an automatic pistol, afew francs in silver--nothing whatever that would serve as a mark ofidentification; for though the grey clothing was tailor-made, themaker's labels had been ripped out of its pockets, while the man'slinen and underwear alike lacked even a laundry's hieroglyphic. 

With this harvest of nothing for his pains, Lanyard turned again to thewash-stand and his shaving kit, mixed a stiff lather, stropped anotherrazor to the finest edge he could manage, fetched a pair of keenscissors from his dressing-case, and went back to the murderer. 

He worked rapidly, at a high pitch of excitement--as much through sheerdesperation as through any appeal inherent in the scheme either to hiscommon-sense or to his romantic bent. 

In two minutes he had stripped the moustache clean away from thatstupid, flaccid mask. 

Unquestionably the resemblance was now most striking; the Americanwould readily pass for Michael Lanyard. 

This much accomplished, he pursued his preparations in feverish haste. In spite of this, he overlooked no detail. In less than twenty minuteshe had exchanged clothing with the American in detail, even down toshirts, collars and neckties; had packed in his own pockets the severalarticles taken from the other, together with the jointed jimmy and afew of his personal effects, and was ready to bid adieu to himself, tothat Michael Lanyard whom Paris knew. 

The insentient masquerader on the floor had called himself "good-enoughSmith"; he must serve now as good-enough Lanyard, at least for the LoneWolf's purposes; the police at all events would accept him as such. Andif the memory of Michael Lanyard must needs wear the stigma of brutalmurder, he need not repine in his oblivion, since through thisperfunctory decease the Lone Wolf would gain a freedom even greaterthan before. 

The Pack had contrived only to eliminate Michael Lanyard, the amateurof fine paintings; remained the Lone Wolf with not one facultyimpaired, but rather with a deadlier purpose to shape his occultcourses.... 

Under the influence of his methodical preparations, his emotions hadcooled appreciably, taking on a cast of cold malignant vengefulness. 

He who never in all his criminal record had so much as pulled triggerin self-defence, was ready now to shoot to kill with the mostcold-blooded intent--given one of three targets; while Popinot'screatures, if they worried him, he meant to exterminate with as littlecompunction as though they were rats in fact as well as in spirit.... 

Extinguishing the lights, he stepped quickly to a window and from oneedge of its shade looked down into the street. 

He was in time to see a stunted human silhouette detach itself from theshadow of a doorway on the opposite walk, move to the curb, and wave anarm--evidently signaling another sentinel on a corner out of Lanyard'srange of vision. 

Herein was additional proof, if any lacked, that De Morbihan had notexaggerated the disposition of Popinot. This animal in the street, momentarily revealed by the corner light as he darted across to takeposition by the door, this animal with sickly face and pointed chin, with dirty muffler round its chicken-neck, shoddy coat clothing itssloping shoulders, baggy corduroy trousers flapping round its bonyshanks--this was Popinot's, and but one of a thousand differing in noessential save degree of viciousness. 

It wasn't possible to guess how thoroughly Popinot had picketed thehouse, in co-operation with Roddy's murderer, by way of provisionagainst mischance; but the adventurer was satisfied that, in his properguise as himself, he needed only to open that postern door at thestreet end of the passage, to feel a knife slip in between hisribs--most probably in his back, beneath the shoulder-blade.... 

He nodded grimly, moved back from the window, and used the flash-lampto light him to the door. 

XI

FLIGHT

Now when Lanyard had locked the door, he told himself that the gruesomepeace of those two bed-chambers was ensured, barring mischance, for aslong as the drug continued to hold dominion over the American; and hefelt justified in reckoning that period apt to be tolerably protracted;while not before noon at earliest would any hôtelier who knew hisbusiness permit the rest of an Anglo-Saxon guest to be disturbed--lacking, that is, definite instructions to the contrary. 

For a full minute after withdrawing the key the adventurer stood atalert attention; but the heavy silence of that sinister old rookerysang in his ears untroubled by any untoward sound.... 

That wistful shadow of his memories, that cowering Marcel of theso-dead yesterday in acute terror of the hand of Madame Troyon, hadnever stolen down that corridor more quietly: yet Lanyard had taken notfive paces from his door when that other opened, at the far end, andLucia Bannon stepped out. 

He checked then, and shut his teeth upon an involuntary oath: truly itseemed as though this run of the devil's own luck would never end!

Astonishment measurably modified his exasperation. 

What had roused the girl out of bed and dressed her for the street atthat unholy hour? And why her terror at sight of him?

For that the surprise was no more welcome to her than to him was aspatent as the fact that she was prepared to leave the hotel forthwith, enveloped in a business-like Burberry rainproof from her throat to thehem of a tweed walking-skirt, and wearing boots both stout and brown. And at sight of him she paused and instinctively stepped back, gropingblindly for the knob of her bed-chamber door; while her eyes, holdingto his with an effect of frightened fascination, seemed momentarily togrow more large and dark in her face of abnormal pallor. 

But these were illegible evidences, and Lanyard was intent solely onsecuring her silence before she could betray him and ruin incontinentlythat grim alibi which he had prepared at such elaborate pains. He movedtoward her swiftly, with long and silent strides, a lifted handenjoining rather than begging her attention, aware as he drew nearerthat a curious change was colouring the complexion of her temper: shepassed quickly from dread to something oddly like relief, fromrepulsion to something strangely like welcome; and dropping the handthat had sought the door-knob, in her turn moved quietly to meet him. 

He was grateful for this consideration, this tacit indulgence of thewish he had as yet to voice; drew a little hope and comfort from it inan emergency which had surprised him without resource other than tothrow himself upon her generosity. And as soon as he could make himselfheard in the clear yet concentrated whisper that was a trick of histrade, a whisper inaudible to ears a yard distant from those to whichit was pitched, he addressed her in a manner at once peremptory andapologetic. 

"If you please, Miss Bannon--not a word, not a whisper!"

She paused and nodded compliance, questioning eyes steadfast to his. 

Doubtfully, wondering that she betrayed so little surprise, he pursuedas one committed to a forlorn hope:

"It's vitally essential that I leave this hotel without it becomingknown. If I may count on you to say nothing--"

She gave him reassurance with a small gesture. "But how?" she breathedin the least of whispers. "The concierge--!"

"Leave that to me--I know another way. I only need a chance--"

"Then won't you take me with you?"

"Eh?" he stammered, dashed. 

Her hands moved toward him in a flutter of entreaty: "I too must leaveunseen--I _must_! Take me with you--out of this place--and I promiseyou no one shall ever know--"

He lacked time to weigh the disadvantages inherent in her proposition;though she offered him a heavy handicap, he had no choice but to acceptit without protest. 

"Come, then, " he told her--"and not a sound--"

She signified assent with another nod; and on this he turned to anadjacent door, opened it gently, whipped out his flash-lamp, and passedthrough. Without sign of hesitancy, she followed; and like two shadowsthey dogged the dancing spot-light of the flash-lamp, through alinen-closet and service-room, down a shallow well threaded by a spiralof iron steps and, by way of the long corridor linking thekitchen-offices, to a stout door secured only by huge, old-style boltsof iron. 

Thus, in less than two minutes from the instant of their encounter, they stood outside Troyon's back door, facing a cramped, malodorousalley-way--a dark and noisome souvenir of that wild mediaeval Pariswhose effacement is an enduring monument to the fame of the good BaronHaussmann. 

Now again it was raining, a thick drizzle that settled slowly, lackinglittle of a fog's opacity; and the faint glimmer from the street lampsof that poorly lighted quarter, reflected by the low-swung clouds, lentLanyard and the girl little aid as they picked their way cautiously, and always in complete silence, over the rude and slimy cobbles of thefoul back way. For the adventurer had pocketed his lamp, lest its beamsbring down upon them some prowling creature of Popinot's; though hefelt passably sure that the alley had been left unguarded in theconfidence that he would never dream of its existence, did he surviveto seek escape from Troyon's. 

For all its might and its omniscience, Lanyard doubted if the Pack hadas yet identified Michael Lanyard with that ill-starred Marcel who oncehad been as intimate with this forgotten way as any skulking tom of thequarter. 

But with the Lone Wolf confidence was never akin to foolhardiness; andif on leaving Troyon's he took the girl's hand without askingpermission and quite as a matter-of-course, and drew it through hisarm--it was his left arm that he so dedicated to gallantry; his righthand remained unhampered, and never far from the grip of his automatic. 

Nor was he altogether confident of his companion. The weight of herhand upon his arm, the fugitive contacts of her shoulder, seemed tohim, just then, the most vivid and interesting things in life; theconsciousness of her personality at his side was like a shaft ofgolden light penetrating the darkness of his dilemma. But as minutespassed and their flight was unchallenged, his mood grew dark withdoubts and quick with distrust. Reviewing it all, he thought to detectsomething too damnably adventitious in the way she had nailed him, back there in the corridor of Troyon's. It was a bit toocoincidental--"a bit thick!"--like that specious yarn of somnambulismshe had told to excuse her presence in his room. Come to examine it, that excuse had been far too clumsy to hoodwink any but a manbewitched by beauty in distress. 

Who was she, anyway? And what her interest in him? What had she beenafter in his room?--this American girl making a first visit to Parisin company with her venerable ruin of a parent? Who, for that matter, was Bannon? If her story of sleep-walking were untrue, then Bannonmust have been at the bottom of her essay in espionage--Bannon, theintimate of De Morbihan, and an American even as the murderer of poorRoddy was an American!

Was this singularly casual encounter, then, but a cloak for furthersurveillance? Had he in his haste and desperation simply played intoher hands, when he burdened himself with the care of her?

But it seemed absurd; to think that she... A girl like her, whose everyword and gesture was eloquent of gentle birth and training... !

Yet--what _had_ she wanted in his room? Somnambulists are sincereindeed in the indulgence of their failing when they time theirexpeditions so opportunely--and arm themselves with keys to fit strangedoors. Come to think of it, he had been rather willfully blind to thatflaw in her excuse.... Again, why should she be up and dressed and somadly bent on leaving Troyon's at half-past four in the morning? Whycouldn't she wait for daylight at least? What errand, reasonable dutyor design could have roused her out into the night and the storm atthat weird hour? He wondered!

And momentarily he grew more jealously heedful of her, critical ofevery nuance in her bearing. The least trace of added pressure on hisarm, the most subtle suggestion that she wasn't entirely indifferent tohim or regarded him in any way other than as the chance-found comradeof an hour of trouble, would have served to fix his suspicions. Forsuch, he told himself, would be the first thought of one bent onbeguiling--to lead him on by some intimation, the more tenuous andelusive the more provocative, that she found his person not altogetherobjectionable. 

But he failed to detect anything of this nature in her manner. 

So, what was one to think? That she was mental enough to appreciate howruinous to her design would be any such advances? ... 

In such perplexity he brought her to the end of the alley and therepulled up for a look round before venturing out into the narrow, dark, and deserted side street that then presented itself. 

At this the girl gently disengaged her hand and drew away a pace or two;and when Lanyard had satisfied himself that there were no Apaches in theoffing, he turned to see her standing there, just within the mouth ofthe alley, in a pose of blank indecision. 

Conscious of his regard, she turned to his inspection a face touchedwith a fugitive, uncertain smile. 

"Where are we?" she asked. 

He named the street; and she shook her head. "That doesn't mean much tome, " she confessed; "I'm so strange to Paris, I know only a few of theprincipal streets. Where is the boulevard St. Germain?"

Lanyard indicated the direction: "Two blocks that way. "

"Thank you. " She advanced a step or two, but paused again. "Do youknow, possibly, just where I could find a taxicab?"

"I'm afraid you won't find any hereabouts at this hour, " he replied. "Afiacre, perhaps--with luck: I doubt if there's one disengaged nearerthan Montmartre, where business is apt to be more brisk. "

"Oh!" she cried in dismay. "I hadn't thought of that.... I thought Paris never went to sleep!"

"Only about three hours earlier than most of the world's capitals.... But perhaps I can advise you--"

"If you would be so kind! Only, I don't like to be a nuisance--"

He smiled deceptively: "Don't worry about that. Where do you wish togo?"

"To the Gare du Nord. "

That made him open his eyes. "The Gare du Nord!" he echoed. "But--I begyour pardon--"

"I wish to take the first train for London, " the girl informed himcalmly. 

"You'll have a while to wait, " Lanyard suggested. "The first trainleaves about half-past eight, and it's now not more than five. "

"That can't be helped. I can wait in the station. "

He shrugged: that was her own look-out--if she were sincere inasserting that she meant to leave Paris; something which he took theliberty of doubting. 

"You can reach it by the Métro, " he suggested--"the Underground, youknow; there's a station handy--St. Germain des Prés. If you like, I'llshow you the way. "

Her relief seemed so genuine, he could have almost believed in it. Andyet--!

"I shall be very grateful, " she murmured. 

He took that for whatever worth it might assay, and quietly fell intoplace beside her; and in a mutual silence--perhaps largely due to herintuitive sense of his bias--they gained the boulevard St. Germain. Buthere, even as they emerged from the side street, that happened whichagain upset Lanyard's plans: a belated fiacre hove up out of the mistand ranged alongside, its driver loudly soliciting patronage. 

Beneath his breath Lanyard cursed the man liberally, nothing could havebeen more inopportune; he needed that uncouth conveyance for his ownpurposes, and if only it had waited until he had piloted the girl tothe station of the Métropolitain, he might have had it. Now he musteither yield the cab to the girl or--share it with her.... But why not?He could readily drop out at his destination, and bid the drivercontinue to the Gare du Nord; and the Métro was neither quick nordirect enough for his design--which included getting under cover wellbefore daybreak. 

Somewhat sulkily, then, if without betraying his temper, he signalledthe cocher, opened the door, and handed the girl in. 

"If you don't mind dropping me en route... "

"I shall be very glad, " she said ... "anything to repay, even in part, the courtesy you've shown me!"

"Oh, please don't fret about that.... "

He gave the driver precise directions, climbed in, and settled himselfbeside the girl. The whip cracked, the horse sighed, the driver swore;the aged fiacre groaned, stirred with reluctance, crawled wearily offthrough the thickening drizzle. 

Within its body a common restraint held silence like a wall between thetwo. 

The girl sat with face averted, reading through the window what cornersigns they passed: rue Bonaparte, rue Jacob, rue des Saints Pères, QuaiMalquais, Pont du Carrousel; recognizing at least one landmark in thegloomy arches of the Louvre; vaguely wondering at the inept French tastein nomenclature which had christened that vast, louring, echoingquadrangle the place du Carrousel, unliveliest of public places in herstrange Parisian experience. 

And in his turn, Lanyard reviewed those well-remembered ways in vastweariness of spirit--disgusted with himself in consciousness that thegirl had somehow divined his distrust.... 

"The Lone Wolf, eh?" he mused bitterly. "Rather, the Cornered Rat--ifpeople only knew! Better still, the Errant--no!--the Arrant Ass!"

They were skirting the Palais Royal when suddenly she turned to him inan impulsive attempt at self-justification. 

"What _must_ you be thinking of me, Mr. Lanyard?"

He was startled: "I? Oh, don't consider me, please. It doesn't matterwhat I think--does it?"

"But you've been so kind; I feel I owe you at least some explanation--"

"Oh, as for that, " he countered cheerfully, "I've got a pretty definitenotion you're running away from your father. "

"Yes. I couldn't stand it any longer--"

She caught herself up in full voice, as though tempted but afraid tosay more. He waited briefly before offering encouragement. 

"I hope I haven't seemed impertinent.... "

"No, no!"

Than this impatient negative his pause of invitation evoked no otherrecognition. She had subsided into her reserve, but--he fancied--notaltogether willingly. 

Was it, then, possible that he had misjudged her?

"You've friends in London, no doubt?" he ventured. 

"No--none. "

"But--"

"I shall manage very well. I shan't be there more than a day ortwo--till the next steamer sails. "

"I see. " There had sounded in her tone a finality which signifieddesire to drop the subject. None the less, he pursued mischievously:"Permit me to wish you bon voyage, Miss Bannon... And to express myregret that circumstances have conspired to change your plans. "

She was still eyeing him askance, dubiously, as if weighing thequestion of his acquaintance with her plans, when the fiacre lumberedfrom the rue Vivienne into the place de la Bourse, rounded thatfrowning pile, and drew up on its north side before the blue lights ofthe all-night telegraph bureau. 

"With permission, " Lanyard said, unlatching the door, "I'll stop offhere. But I'll direct the cocher very carefully to the Gare du Nord. Please don't even tip him--that's my affair. No--not another word ofthanks; to have been permitted to be of service--it is a uniquepleasure, Miss Bannon. And so, good night!"

With an effect that seemed little less than timid, the girl offered herhand. 

"Thank you, Mr. Lanyard, " she said in an unsteady voice. "I am sorry--"

But she didn't say what it was she regretted; and Lanyard, standingwith bared head in the driving mist, touched her fingers coolly, repeated his farewells, and gave the driver both money andinstructions, and watched the cab lurch away before he approached thetelegraph bureau.... 

But the enigma of the girl so deeply intrigued his imagination that itwas only with difficulty that he concocted a non-committal telegram toRoddy's friend in the Prefecture--that imposing personage who hadwatched with the man from Scotland Yard at the platform gates in theGare du Nord. 

It was couched in English, when eventually composed and submitted tothe telegraph clerk with a fervent if inaudible prayer that he might beignorant of the tongue. 

_"Come at once to my room at Troyon's. Enter via adjoining roomprepared for immediate action on important development. Urgent. Roddy. "_

Whether or not this were Greek to the man behind the wicket, it wasaccepted with complete indifference--or, rather, with an interest thatapparently evaporated on receipt of the fees. Lanyard couldn't see thatthe clerk favoured him with as much as a curious glance before heturned away to lose himself, to bury his identity finally and foreverunder the incognito of the Lone Wolf. 

He couldn't have rested without taking that one step to compass thearrest of the American assassin; now with luck and prompt action on thepart of the Préfecture, he felt sure Roddy would be avenged by Monsieurde Paris.... But it was very well that there should exist no cluewhereby the author of that mysterious telegram might be traced.... 

It was, then, not an ill-pleased Lanyard who slipped oft into the nightand the rain; but his exasperation was elaborate when the first objectthat met his gaze was that wretched fiacre, back in place before thedoor, Lucia Bannon leaning from its lowered window, the cocher on hisbox brandishing an importunate whip at the adventurer. 

He barely escaped choking on suppressed profanity; and for two souswould have swung on his heel and ignored the girl deliberately. But hedidn't dare: close at hand stood a sergent de ville, inquisitive eyesbright beneath the dripping visor of his kepi, keenly welcoming thisdiversion of a cheerless hour. 

With at least outward semblance of resignation, Lanyard approached thewindow. 

"I have been guilty of some stupidity, perhaps?" he enquired withlip-civility that had no echo in his heart. "But I am sorry--"

"The stupidity is mine, " the girl interrupted in accents tense withagitation. "Mr. Lanyard, I--I--"

Her voice faltered and broke off in a short, dry sob, and she drewback with an effect of instinctive distaste for public emotion. Lanyard smothered an impulse to demand roughly "Well, what now?" andcame closer to the window. 

"Something more I can do, Miss Bannon?"

"I don't know.... I've just found it out--I came away so hurriedly Inever thought to make sure; but I've no money--not a franc!"

After a little pause he commented helpfully: "That does complicatematters, doesn't it?"

"What am I to do? I can't go back--I won't! Anything rather. You mayjudge how desperate I am, when I prefer to throw myself on yourgenerosity--and already I've strained your patience--"

"Not much, " he interrupted in a soothing voice. "But--half a moment--wemust talk this over. "

Directing the cocher to drive to the place Pigalle, he reentered thecab, suspicion more than ever rife in his mind. But as far as he couldsee--with that confounded sergo staring!--there was nothing else forit. He couldn't stand there in the rain forever, gossiping with a girlhalf-hysterical--or pretending to be. 

"You see, " she explained when the fiacre was again under way, "Ithought I had a hundred-franc note in my pocketbook; and so Ihave--but the pocketbook's back there, in my room at Troyon's. "

"A hundred francs wouldn't see you far toward New York, " he observedthoughtfully. 

"Oh, I hope you don't think--!"

She drew back into her corner with a little shudder of humiliation. 

As if he hadn't noticed, Lanyard turned to the window, leaned out, and redirected the driver sharply: "Impasse Stanislas!"

Immediately the vehicle swerved, rounded a corner, and made backtoward the Seine with a celerity which suggested that the stableswere on the Rive Gauche. 

"Where?" the girl demanded as Lanyard sat back. "Where are you takingme?"

"I'm sorry, " Lanyard said with every appearance of sudden contrition;"I acted impulsively--on the assumption of your complete confidence. Which, of course, was unpardonable. But, believe me; you have onlyto say no and it shall be as you wish. "

"But, " she persisted impatiently--"you haven't answered me: what isthis impasse Stanislas?"

"The address of an artist I know--Solon, the painter. We're going totake possession of his studio in his absence. Don't worry; he won'tmind. He is under heavy obligation to me--I've sold several canvassesfor him; and when he's away, as now, in the States, he leaves me thekeys. It's a sober-minded, steady-paced neighbourhood, where we canrest without misgivings and take our time to think things out. "

"But--" the girl began in an odd tone. 

"But permit me, " he interposed hastily, "to urge the facts of the caseupon your consideration. "

"Well?" she said in the same tone, as he paused. 

"To begin with--I don't doubt you've good reason for running away fromyour father. "

"A very real, a very grave reason, " she affirmed quietly. 

"And you'd rather not go back--"

"That is out of the question!"--with a restrained passion that almostwon his credulity. 

"But you've no friends in Paris--?"

"Not one!"

"And no money. So it seems, if you're to elude your father, you mustfind some place to hide pro tem. As for myself, I've not slept inforty-eight hours and must rest before I'll be able to think clearlyand plan ahead.... And we won't accomplish much riding round forever inthis ark. So I offer the only solution I'm capable of advancing, underthe circumstances. "

"You are quite right, " the girl agreed after a moment. "Please don'tthink me unappreciative. Indeed, it makes me very unhappy to think Iknow no way to make amends for your trouble. "

"There may be a way, " Lanyard informed her quietly; "but we'll notdiscuss that until we've rested up a bit. "

"I shall be only too glad--" she began, but fell silent and, in asilence that seemed almost apprehensive, eyed him speculativelythroughout the remainder of the journey. 

It wasn't a long one; in the course of the next ten minutes they drewup at the end of a shallow pocket of a street, a scant half-block indepth; where alighting, Lanyard helped the girl out, paid and dismissedthe cocher, and turned to an iron gate in a high stone wall crownedwith spikes. 

The grille-work of that gate afforded glimpses of a small, dark gardenand a little house of two storeys. Blank walls of old tenementsshouldered both house and garden on either side. 

Unlocking the gate, Lanyard refastened it very carefully, repeated thebusiness at the front door of the house, and when they were securelylocked and bolted within a dark reception-hall, turned on the electriclight. 

But he granted the girl little more than time for a fugitive survey ofthis ante-room to an establishment of unique artistic character. 

"These are living-rooms, downstairs here, " he explained hurriedly. "Solon's unmarried, and lives quite alone--his studio-devil andfemme-de-ménage come in by the day only--and so he avoids that pest aconcierge. With your permission, I'll assign you to the studio--uphere. "

And leading the way up a narrow flight of steps, he made a light in thehuge room that was the upper storey. 

"I believe you'll be comfortable, " he said--"that divan yonder is aseasy a couch as one could wish--and there's this door you can lock atthe head of the staircase; while I, of course, will be on guardbelow.... And now, Miss Bannon... Unless there's something more I cando--?"

The girl answered with a wan smile and a little broken sigh. Almostinvoluntarily, in the heaviness of her fatigue, she had surrendered tothe hospitable arms of a huge lounge-chair. 

Her weary glance ranged the luxuriously appointed studio and returnedto Lanyard's face; and while he waited he fancied something moving inthose wistful eyes, so deeply shadowed with distress, perplexity, andfatigue. 

"I'm very tired indeed, " she confessed--"more than I guessed. But I'msure I shall be comfortable.... And I count myself very fortunate, Mr. Lanyard. You've been more kind than I deserved. Without you, I don'tlike to think what might have become of me.... "

"Please don't!" he pleaded and, suddenly discountenanced byconsciousness of his duplicity, turned to the stairs. "Good night, Miss Bannon, " he mumbled; and was half-way down before he heard hisvalediction faintly echoed. 

As he gained the lower floor, the door was closed at the top of thestairs and its bolt shot home with a soft thud. 

But turning to lock the lower door, he stayed his hand in transientindecision. 

"Damn it!" he growled uneasily--"there can't be any harm in that girl!Impossible for eyes like hers to lie!... And yet ... And yet!... Oh, what's the matter with me? Am I losing my grip? Why stick at ordinaryprecaution against treachery on the part of a woman who's nothing to meand of whom I know nothing that isn't conspicuously questionable?... All because of a pretty face and an appealing manner!"

And so he secured that door, if very quietly; and having pocketed thekey and made the round of doors and windows, examining their locks, hestumbled heavily into the bedroom of his friend the artist. 

Darkness overwhelmed him then: he was stricken down by sleep as an oxfalls under the pole. 

XII

AWAKENING

It was late afternoon when Lanyard wakened from sleep so deep anddreamless that nothing could have induced it less potent than sheersystemic exhaustion, at once nervous, muscular and mental. 

A profound and stifling lethargy benumbed his senses. There was stuporin his brain, and all his limbs ached dully. He opened dazed eyes uponblank darkness. In his ears a vast silence pulsed. 

And in that strange moment of awakening he was conscious of noindividuality: it was, for the time, as if he had passed in slumberfrom one existence to another, sloughing en passant all his three-foldpersonality as Marcel Troyon, Michael Lanyard, and the Lone Wolf. Hadany one of these names been uttered in his hearing just then it wouldhave meant nothing to him--or little more than nothing: he was for thetime being merely _himself_, a shell of sensations enclosing dullembers of vitality. 

For several minutes he lay without moving, curiously intrigued by thisriddle of identity: it was but slowly that his mind, like a blind handgroping round a dark chamber, picked up the filaments of memory. 

One by one the connections were renewed, the circuits closed.... 

But, singularly enough in his understanding, his first thought was ofthe girl upstairs in the studio, unconsciously his prisoner andhostage--rather than of himself, who lay there, heavy with loss ofsleep, languidly trying to realize himself. 

For he was no more as he had been. Wherein the difference lay hecouldn't say, but that a difference existed he was persuaded--that hehad changed, that some strange reaction in the chemistry of his naturehad taken place during slumber. It was as if sleep had not onlyrepaired the ravages of fatigue upon the tissues of his brain and body, but had mended the tissues of his soul as well. His thoughts werefluent in fresh channels, his interests no longer the interests of theMichael Lanyard he had known, no longer self-centred, the interests ofthe absolute ego. He was concerned less for himself, even now when heshould be most gravely so, than for another, for the girl Lucia Bannon, who was nothing to him, whom he had yet to know for twenty-four hours, but of whom he could not cease to think if he would. 

It was her plight that perturbed him, from which he sought anoutlet--never his own. 

Yet his own was desperate enough.... 

Baffled and uneasy, he at length bethought him of his watch. But itstestimony seemed incredible: surely the hour could not be five in theafternoon!--surely he could not have slept so close upon a full roundof the clock!

And if it were so, what of the girl? Had she, too, so sorely neededsleep that the brief November day had dawned and waned without herknowledge?

That question was one to rouse him: in an instant he was up and gropinghis way through the gloom that enshrouded bed-chamber and dining-roomto the staircase door in the hall. He found this fast enough, its keystill safe in his pocket, and unlocking it quietly, shot the beam ofhis flash-lamp up that dark well to the door at the top; which wastight shut. 

For several moments he attended to a taciturn silence broken by never asound to indicate that he wasn't a lonely tenant of the littledwelling, then irresolutely lifted a foot to the first step--andwithdrew it. If she continued to sleep, why disturb her? He had much todo in the way of thinking things out; and that was a process moreeasily performed in solitude. 

Leaving the door ajar, then, he turned to one of the front windows, parted its draperies, and peered out, over the little garden andthrough the iron ribs of the gate, to the street, where a singlegas-lamp, glimmering within a dull golden halo of mist, made visiblethe scant length of the impasse Stanislas, empty, rain-swept, desolate. 

The rain persisted with no hint of failing purpose.... 

Something in the dreary emptiness of that brief vista deepened theshadow in his mood and knitted a careworn frown into his brows. 

Abstractedly he sought the kitchen and, making a light, washed up atthe tap, then foraged for breakfast. Persistence turned up aspirit-stove, a half-bottle of methylated, a packet of tea, a tin ortwo of biscuit, as many more of potted meats: left-overs from theartist's stock, dismally scant and uninviting in array. With these hemade the discovery that he was half-famished, and found no reason tobelieve that the girl would be in any better case. An expedition to thenearest charcuterie was indicated; but after he had searched for andfound an old raincoat of Solon's, Lanyard decided against leaving thegirl alone. Pending her appearance, he filled the spirit-stove, put thekettle on to boil, and lighting a cigarette, sat himself down to watchthe pot and excogitate his several problems. 

In a fashion uncommonly clear-headed, even for him, he assembled allthe facts bearing upon their predicament, his and Lucia Bannon's, jointly and individually, and dispassionately pondered them.... 

But insensibly his thoughts reverted to their exotic phase of hisawakening, drifting into such introspection as he seldom indulged, andled him far from the immediate riddle, by strange ways to a revelationaltogether unpresaged and a resolve still more revolutionary. 

A look of wonder flickered in his brooding eyes; and clipped betweentwo fingers, his cigarette grew a long ash, let it fall, and burneddown to a stump so short that the coal almost scorched his flesh. Hedropped it and crushed out the fire with his heel, all unwittingly. 

Slowly but irresistibly his world was turning over beneath his feet.... 

The sound of a footfall recalled him as from an immeasurable remove; helooked up to see Lucia at pause upon the threshold, and rose slowly, with effort recollecting himself and marshalling his wits against theemergency foreshadowed by her attitude. 

Tense with indignation, quick with disdain, she demanded, without anypreface whatever: "Why did you lock me in?"

He stammered unhappily: "I beg your pardon--"

"Why did you lock me in?"

"I'm sorry--"

"Why did you--"

But she interrupted herself to stamp her foot emphatically; and hecaught her up on the echo of that:

"If you must know, because I wasn't trusting you. "

Her eyes darkened ominously: "Yet you insisted I should trust you!"

"The circumstances aren't parallel: you're not a notorious malefactor, wanted by the police of every capital in Europe, hounded by rivals toboot--fighting for life, liberty and"--he laughed shortly--"thepursuit of happiness!"

She caught her breath sharply--whether with dismay or mere surprise athis frankness he couldn't tell. 

"Are you?" she demanded quickly. 

"Am I what?"

"What you've just said--"

"A crook--and all that? Miss Bannon, you know it!"

"The Lone Wolf?"

"You've known it all along. De Morbihan told you--or else your father. Or, it may be, you were shrewd enough to guess it from De Morbihan'sbragging in the restaurant. At all events, it's plain enough, nothingbut desire to find proof to identify me with the Lone Wolf took you tomy room last night--whether for your personal satisfaction or at theinstigation of Bannon--just as nothing less than disgust with what wasgoing on made you run away from such intolerable associations.... Though, at that, I don't believe you even guessed how unspeakablyvicious those were!"

He paused and waited, anticipating furious denial or refutation; suchwould, indeed, have been the logical development of the temper in whichshe had come down to confront him. 

Rather than this, she seemed calmed and sobered by his charge; far fromresenting it, disposed to concede its justice; anger deserted herexpression, leaving it intent and grave. She came quietly into the roomand faced him squarely across the table. 

"You thought all that of me--that I was capable of spying on you--yetwere generous enough to believe I despised myself for doing it?"

"Not at first.... At first, when we met back there in the corridor, Iwas sure you were bent on further spying. Only since waking up here, half an hour ago, did I begin to understand how impossible it would befor you to lend yourself to such villainy as last night's. "

"But if you thought that of me then, why did you--?"

"It occurred to me that it would be just as well to prevent yourreporting back to headquarters. "

"But now you've changed your mind about me?"

He nodded: "Quite. "

"But why?" she demanded in a voice of amazement. "Why?"

"I can't tell you, " he said slowly--"I don't know why. I can only presumeit must be because--I can't help believing in you. "

Her glance wavered: her colour deepened. "I don't understand... " shemurmured. 

"Nor I, " he confessed in a tone as low.... 

A sudden grumble from the teakettle provided welcome distraction. Lanyard lifted it off the flames and slowly poured boiling water on ameasure of tea in an earthenware pot. 

"A cup of this and something to eat'll do us no harm, " he ventured, smiling uneasily--"especially if we're to pursue this psychologicalenquiry into the whereforeness of the human tendency to change one'smind!"

XIII

CONFESSIONAL

And then, when the girl made no response, but remained with troubledgaze focused on some remote abstraction, "You will have tea, won'tyou?" he urged. 

She recalled her thoughts, nodded with the faintest of smiles--"Yes, thank you!"--and dropped into a chair. 

He began at once to make talk in effort to dissipate that constraintwhich stood between them like an unseen alien presence: "You must bevery hungry?"

"I am. "

"Sorry I've nothing better to offer you. I'd have run out for somethingmore substantial, only--"

"Only--?" she prompted, coolly helping herself to biscuit and pottedham. 

"I didn't think it wise to leave you alone. "

"Was that before or after you'd made up your mind about me--the latestphase, I mean?" she persisted with a trace of malice. 

"Before, " he returned calmly--"likewise, afterwards. Either way youcare to take it, it wouldn't have been wise to leave you here. Supposeyou had waked up to find me gone, yourself alone in this strangehouse--"

"I've been awake several hours, " she interposed--"found myself lockedin, and heard no sound to indicate that you were still here. "

"I'm sorry: I was overtired and slept like a log.... But assuming thecase: you would have gone out, alone, penniless--"

"Through a locked door, Mr. Lanyard?"

"I shouldn't have left it locked, " he explained patiently.... "Youwould have found yourself friendless and without resources in a city towhich you are a stranger. "

She nodded: "True. But what of that?"

"In desperation you might have been forced to go back--"

"And report the outcome of my investigation!"

"Pressure might have been brought to induce admissions damaging to me, "Lanyard submitted pleasantly. "Whether or no, you'd have been obligedto renew associations you're well rid of. "

"You feel sure of that?"

"But naturally. "

"How can you be?" she challenged. "You've yet to know me twenty-fourhours. "

"But perhaps I know the associations better. In point of fact, I do. Even though you may have stooped to play the spy last night, MissBannon--you couldn't keep it up. You had to fly further contaminationfrom that pack of jackals. "

"Not--you feel sure--merely to keep you under observation?"

"I do feel sure of that. I have your word for it. "

The girl deliberately finished her tea, and sat back, regarding himsteadily beneath level brows. Then she said with an odd laugh: "Youhave your own way of putting one on honour!"

"I don't need to--with you. "

She analyzed this with gathering perplexity. "What do you mean bythat?"

"I mean, I don't need to put you on your honour--because I'm sure ofyou. Even were I not, still I'd refrain from exacting any pledge, orattempting to. " He paused and shrugged before continuing: "If I thoughtyou were still to be distrusted, Miss Bannon, I'd say: 'There's a freedoor; go when you like, back to the Pack, turn in your report, and letthem act as they see fit. '... Do you think I care for them? Do youimagine for one instant that I fear any one--or all--of that gang?"

"That rings suspiciously of egoism!"

"Let it, " he retorted. "It's pride of caste, if you must know. I holdmyself a grade better than such cattle; I've intelligence, at least.... I can take care of myself!"

If he might read her countenance, it expressed more than anything elsedistress and disappointment. 

"Why do you boast like this--to me?"

"Less through self-satisfaction than in contempt for a pack ofmurderous mongrels--impatience that I have to consider such creaturesas Popinot, Wertheimer, De Morbiban and--all their crew. "

"And Bannon, " she corrected calmly--"you meant to say!"

"Wel-l--" he stammered, discountenanced. 

"It doesn't matter, " she assured him. "I quite understand, and strangeas it may sound, I've very little feeling in the matter. " And then sheacknowledged his stupefied stare with a weary smile. "I know what Iknow, " she added, with obscure significance.... 

"I'd give a good deal to know how much you know, "he muttered in his confusion. 

"But what do _you_ know?" she caught him up--"against Mr. Bannon--against my father, that is--that makes you so ready to suspectboth him and me?"

"Nothing, " he confessed--"I know nothing; but I suspect everything andeverybody.... And the more I think of it, the more closely I examinethat brutal business of last night, the more I seem to sense his willbehind it all--as one might glimpse a face in darkness through alighted lattice.... Oh, laugh if you like! It sounds high-flown, Iknow. But that's the effect I get.... What took you to my room, if nothis orders? Why does he train with De Morbihan, if he's not blood-kinto that breed? Why are you running away from him if not because you'vefound out his part in that conspiracy?"

His pause and questioning look evoked no answer; the girl sat movelessand intent, meeting his gaze inscrutably. And something in herimpassive attitude worked a little exasperation into his temper. 

"Why, " he declared hotly--"if I dare trust to intuition--forgive me ifI pain you--"

She interrupted with impatience: "I've already begged you not toconsider my feelings, Mr. Lanyard! If you dared trust to yourintuition--what then?"

"Why, then, I could believe that Mr. Bannon, your father ... I couldbelieve it was his order that killed poor Roddy!"

There could be no doubting her horrified and half-incredulous surprise. 

"Roddy?" she iterated in a whisper almost inaudible, with face fastblanching. "Roddy--!"

"Inspector Roddy of Scotland Yard, " he told her mercilessly, "wasmurdered in his sleep last night at Troyon's. The murderer broke intohis room by way of mine--the two adjoin. He used my razor, wore mydressing-gown to shield his clothing, did everything he could think ofto cast suspicion on me, and when I came in assaulted me, meaning todrug and leave me insensible to be found by the police. Fortunately--Iwas beforehand with him. I had just left him drugged, insensible in myplace, when I met you in the corridor.... You didn't know?"

"How can you ask?" the girl moaned. 

Bending forward, an elbow on the table, she worked her hands togetheruntil their knuckles shone white through the skin--but not as white asthe face from which her eyes sought his with a look of dumb horror, dazed, pitiful, imploring. 

"You're not deceiving me? But no--why should you?" she faltered. "Buthow terrible, how unspeakably awful! ... "

"I'm sorry, " Lanyard mumbled--"I'd have held my tongue if I hadn'tthought you knew--"

"You thought I knew--and didn't lift a finger to save the man?" Shejumped up with a blazing face. "Oh, how could you?"

"No--not that--I never thought that. But, meeting you then and there, so opportunely--I couldn't ignore the coincidence; and when youadmitted you were running away from your father, considering all thecircumstances, I was surely justified in thinking it was realization, in part at least, of what had happened that was driving you away. "She shook her head slowly, her indignation ebbing as quickly as it hadrisen. "I understand, " she said; "you had some excuse, but you weremistaken. I ran away--yes--but not because of that. I neverdreamed ... "

She fell silent, sitting with bowed head and twisting her handstogether in a manner he found it painful to watch. 

"But please, " he implored, "don't take it so much to heart, MissBannon. If you knew nothing, you couldn't have prevented it. "

"No, " she said brokenly--"I could have done nothing ... But Ididn't know. It isn't that--it's the horror and pity of it. And thatyou could think--!"

"But I didn't!" he protested--"truly I did not. And for what I didthink, for the injustice I did do you, believe me, I'm truly sorry. "

"You were quite justified, " she said--"not only by circumstantialevidence but to a degree in fact. You must know ... Now I must tellyou ... "

"Nothing you don't wish to!" he interrupted. "The fact that Ipractically kidnapped you under pretence of doing you a service, andsuspected you of being in the pay of that Pack, gives me no title toyour confidence. "

"Can I blame you for thinking what you did?" She went on slowly, without looking up--gaze steadfast to her interlaced fingers: "Now formy own sake I want you to know what otherwise, perhaps, I shouldn'thave told you--not yet, at all events. I'm no more Bannon's daughterthan you're his son. Our names sound alike--people frequently makethe same mistake. My name is Shannon--Lucy Shannon. Mr. Bannoncalled me Lucia because he knew I didn't like it, to tease me; forthe same reason he always kept up the pretence that I was his daughterwhen people misunderstood. "

"But--if that is so--then what--?"

"Why--it's very simple. " Still she didn't look up. "I'm a trainednurse. Mr. Bannon is consumptive--so far gone, it's a wonder hedidn't die years ago: for months I've been haunted by the thought thatit's only the evil in him keeps him alive. It wasn't long after I tookthe assignment to nurse him that I found out something about him.... He'd had a haemorrhage at his desk; and while he lay in coma, and Iwas waiting for the doctor, I happened to notice one of the papers he'dbeen working over when he fell. And then, just as I began to appreciatethe sort of man I was employed by, he came to, and saw--and knew. Ifound him watching me with those dreadful eyes of his, and though hewas unable to speak, knew my life wasn't safe if ever I breathed a wordof what I had read. I would have left him then, but he was too cunningfor me, and when in time I found a chance to escape--I was afraid I'dnot live long if ever I left him. He went about it deliberately; tokeep me frightened, and though he never mentioned the matter directly, let me know plainly, in a hundred ways, what his power was and whatwould happen if I whispered a word of what I knew. It's nearly a yearnow--nearly a year of endless terror and... "

Her voice fell; she was trembling with the recrudescent suffering ofthat year-long servitude. And for a little Lanyard felt too profoundlymoved to trust himself to speak; he stood aghast, staring down at thiswoman, so intrinsically and gently feminine, so strangely strong andcourageous; and vaguely envisaging what anguish must have been hers inenforced association with a creature of Bannon's ruthless stamp, he wasrent with compassion and swore to himself he'd stand by her and see herthrough and free and happy if he died for it--or ended in the Santé!

"Poor child!" he heard himself murmuring--"poor child!"

"Don't pity me!" she insisted, still with face averted. "I don'tdeserve it. If I had the spirit of a mouse, I'd have defied him; itneeded only courage enough to say one word to the police--"

"But who is he, then?" Lanyard demanded. "What is he, I mean?"

"I hardly know how to tell you. And I hardly dare: I feel as if thesewalls would betray me if I did.... But to me he's the incarnation ofall things evil.... " She shook herself with a nervous laugh. "But whybe silly about it? I don't really know what or who he is: I onlysuspect and believe that he is a man whose life is devoted to planningevil and ordering its execution through his lieutenants. When thepapers at home speak of 'The Man Higher Up' they mean Archer Bannon, though they don't know it--or else I'm merely a hysterical womanexaggerating the impressions of a morbid imagination.... And that's allI know of him that matters. "

"But why, if you believe all this--how did you at length findcourage--?"

"Because I no longer had courage to endure; because I was more afraidto stay than to go--afraid that my own soul would be forfeit. And then, last night, he ordered me to go to your room and search it for evidencethat you were the Lone Wolf. It was the first time he'd ever askedanything like that of me. I was afraid, and though I obeyed, I was gladwhen you interrupted--glad even though I had to lie the way I did.... And all that worked on me, after I'd gone back to my room, until I feltI could stand it no longer; and after a long time, when the houseseemed all still, I got up, dressed quietly and ... That is how I cameto meet you--quite by accident. "

"But you seemed so frightened at first when you saw me--"

"I was, " she confessed simply; "I thought you wereMr. Greggs. "

"Greggs?"

"Mr. Bannon's private secretary--his right-hand man. He's about yourheight and has a suit like the one you wear, and in that poor light--atthe distance I didn't notice you were clean-shaven--Greggs wears amoustache--"

"Then it was Greggs murdered Roddy and tried to drug me! ... By George, I'd like to know whether the police got there before Bannon, orsomebody else, discovered the substitution. It was a telegram to thepolice, you know, I sent from the Bourse last night!"

In his excitement Lanyard began to pace the floor rapidly; and now thathe was no longer staring at her, the girl lifted her head and watchedhim closely as he moved to and fro, talking aloud--more to himself thanto her. 

"I wish I knew! ... And what a lucky thing, you did meet me! For ifyou'd gone on to the Gare du Nord and waited there.... Well, it isn'tlikely Bannon didn't discover your flight before eight o'clock thismorning, is it?"

"I'm afraid not.... "

"And they've drawn the dead-line for me round every conceivable exitfrom Paris: Popinot's Apaches are picketed everywhere. And if Bannonhad found out about you in time, it would have needed only a word... "

He paused and shuddered to think what might have ensued had that wordbeen spoken and the girl been found waiting for her train in the Garedu Nord. 

"Mercifully, we've escaped that. And now, with any sort of luck, Bannonought to be busy enough, trying to get his precious Mr. Greggs out ofthe Santé, to give us a chance. And a fighting chance is all I ask. "

"Mr. Lanyard"--the girl bent toward him across the table with a gestureof eager interest--"have you any idea why he--why Mr. Bannon hates youso?"

"But does he? I don't know!"

"If he doesn't, why should he plot to cast suspicion of murder on you, and why be so anxious to know whether you were really the Lone Wolf? Isaw his eyes light up when De Morbihan mentioned that name, afterdinner; and if ever I saw hatred in a man's face, it was in his as hewatched you, when you weren't looking. "

"As far as I know, I never heard of him before, " Lanyard saidcarelessly. "I fancy it's nothing more than the excitement of aman-hunt. Now that they've found me out, De Morbihan and his crew won'trest until they've got my scalp. "

"But why?"

"Professional jealousy. We're all crooks, all in the same boat, only Iwon't row to their stroke. I've always played a lone hand successfully;now they insist on coming into the game and sharing my winnings. AndI've told them where they could go. "

"And because of that, they're willing to----"

"There's nothing they wouldn't do, Miss Shannon, to bring me to myknees or see me put out of the way, where my operations couldn't hurttheir pocketbooks. Well ... All I ask is a fighting chance, and theyshall have their way!"

Her brows contracted. "I don't understand.... You want a fightingchance--to surrender--to give in to their demands?"

"In a way--yes. I want a fighting chance to do what I'd never in theworld get them to credit--give it all up and leave them a free field. "

And when still she searched his face with puzzled eyes, he insisted:"I mean it; I want to get away--clear out--chuck the game for good andall!"

A little silence greeted this announcement. Lanyard, at pause near thetable, resting a hand on it, bent to the girl's upturned face a gravebut candid regard. And the deeps of her eyes that never swerved fromhis were troubled strangely in his vision. He could by no means accountfor the light he seemed to see therein, a light that kindled while hewatched like a tiny flame, feeble, fearful, vacillant, then as themoments passed steadied and grew stronger but ever leaped and danced;so that he, lost in the wonder of it and forgetful of himself, thoughtof it as the ardent face of a happy child dancing in the depths of somebrown autumnal woodland.... 

"You, " she breathed incredulously--"you mean, you're going to stop--?"

"I _have_ stopped, Miss Shannon. The Lone Wolf has prowled for the lasttime. I didn't know it until I woke up, an hour or so ago, but I'veturned my last job. "

He remarked her hands were small, in keeping with the slightness of herperson, but somehow didn't seem so--wore a look of strength andcapability, befitting hands trained to a nurse's duties; and saw themeach tight-fisted but quivering as they rested on the table, as thoughtheir mistress struggled to suppress the manifestation of some emotionas powerful as unfathomable to him. 

"But why?" she demanded in bewilderment. "But why do you say that? Whatcan have happened to make you--?"

"Not fear of that Pack!" he laughed--"not that, I promise you. "

"Oh, I know!" she said impatiently--"I know that very well. But still Idon't understand.... "

"If it won't bore you, I'll try to explain. " He drew up his chair andsat down again, facing her across the littered table. "I don't supposeyou've ever stopped to consider what an essentially stupid animal acrook must be. Most of them are stupid because they practise clumsilyone of the most difficult professions imaginable, and inevitably failat it, yet persist. They wouldn't think of undertaking a job of civilengineering with no sort of preparation, but they'll tackle adangerous proposition in burglary without a thought, and pay forfailure with years of imprisonment, and once out try it again. That'sone kind of criminal--the ninety-nine per-cent class--incurably stupid!There's another class, men whose imagination forewarns them of dangersand whose mental training, technical equipment and sheer manualdexterity enable them to attack a formidable proposition like a modernsafe--by way of illustration--and force its secret. They're thesuccessful criminals, like myself--but they're no less stupid, no lessfailures, than the other ninety-nine in our every hundred, because theynever stop to think. It never occurs to them that the sameintelligence, applied to any one of the trades they must be masters of, would not only pay them better, but leave them their self-respect andrid them forever of the dread of arrest that haunts us all like thememory of some shameful act.... All of which is much more of a lecturethan I meant to inflict upon you, Miss Shannon, and sums up to justthis: _I_'ve stopped to think.... "

With this he stopped for breath as well, and momentarily was silent, his faint, twisted smile testifying to self-consciousness; butpresently, seeing that she didn't offer to interrupt, but continued togive him her attention so exclusively that it had the effect offascination, he stumbled on, at first less confidently. "When I woke upit was as if, without my will, I had been thinking all this out in mysleep. I saw myself for the first time clearly, as I have been eversince I can remember--a crook, thoughtless, vain, rapacious, ruthless, skulking in shadows and thinking myself an amazingly fine fellowbecause, between coups, I would play the gentleman a bit, venture intothe light and swagger in the haunts of the gratin! In my poor, perverted brain I thought there was something fine and thrilling andromantic in the career of a great criminal and myself a wonderfulfigure--an enemy of society!"

"Why do you say this to me?" she demanded abruptly, out of a phase ofprofound thoughtfulness. 

He lifted an apologetic shoulder. "Because, I fancy, I'm no longerself-sufficient. _I_ was all of that, twenty-four hours ago; but nowI'm as lonesome as a lost child in a dark forest. I haven't a friend inthe world. I'm like a stray pup, grovelling for sympathy. And you areunfortunate enough to be the only person I can declare myself to. It's going to be a fight--I know that too well!--and without somethingoutside myself to struggle toward, I'll be heavily handicapped. Butif ... " He faltered, with a look of wistful earnestness. "If I thoughtthat you, perhaps, were a little interested, that I had your faith torespect and cherish ... If I dared hope that you'd be glad to know Ihad won out against odds, it would mean a great deal to me, it mightmean my salvation!"

Watching her narrowly, hanging upon her decision with the anxiety of aman proscribed and hoping against hope for pardon, he saw her eyescloud and shift from his, her lips parted but hesitant; and before shecould speak, hastily interposed:

"Please don't say anything yet. First let me demonstrate my sincerity. So far I've done nothing to persuade you but--talk and talk and talk!Give me a chance to prove I mean what I say. "

"How"--she enunciated only with visible effort and no longer met hisappeal with an open countenance--"how can you do that?"

"In the long run, by establishing myself in some honest way of life, however modest; but now, and principally, by making reparation for atleast one crime I've committed that's not irreparable. "

He caught her quick glance of enquiry, and met it with a confident nodas he placed between them the morocco-bound jewel-case. 

"In London, yesterday, " he said quietly, "I brought off two big coups. One was deliberate, the other the inspiration of a moment. The one I'dplanned for months was the theft of the Omber jewels--here. "

He tapped the case and resumed in the same manner: "The other job needsa diagram: Not long ago a Frenchman named Huysman, living in Tours, wasmysteriously murdered--a poor inventor, who had starved himself toperfect a stabilizator, an attachment to render aeroplanes practicallyfool-proof. His final trials created a sensation and he was on the eveof selling his invention to the Government when he was killed and hisplans stolen. Circumstantial evidence pointed to an international spynamed Ekstrom--Adolph Ekstrom, once Chief of the Aviation Corps of theGerman Army, cashiered for general blackguardism with a suspicion oftreason to boot. However, Ekstrom kept out of sight; and presently theplans turned up in the German War Office. That was a big thing forGermany; already supreme with her dirigibles, the acquisition of theHuysman stabilizator promised her ten years' lead over the world in thefield of aeroplanes.... Now yesterday Ekstrom came to the surface inLondon with those self-same plans to sell to England. Chance threw himmy way, and he mistook me for the man he'd expected to meet--DowningStreet's secret agent. Well--no matter how--I got the plans from himand brought them over with me, meaning to turn them over to France, towhom by rights they belong. "

"Without consideration?" the girl enquired shrewdly. 

"Not exactly. I had meant to make no profit of the affair--I'm a bitsqueamish about tainted money!--but under present conditions, if Franceinsists on rewarding me with safe conduct out of the country, I shan'trefuse it.... Do you approve?"

She nodded earnestly: "It would be worse than criminal to return themto Ekstrom.... "

"That's my view of the matter. "

"But these?" The girl rested her hand upon the jewel-case. 

"Those go back to Madame Omber. She has a home here in Paris that Iknow very well. In fact, the sole reason why I didn't steal them herewas that she left for England unexpectedly, just as I was all set tostrike. Now I purpose making use of my knowledge to restore the jewelswithout risk of falling into the hands of the police. That will be aneasy matter.... And that brings me to a great favour I would beg ofyou. "

She gave him a look so unexpectedly kind that it staggered him. But hehad himself well in hand. 

"You can't now leave Paris before morning--thanks to my havingoverslept, " he explained. "There's no honest way I know to raise moneybefore the pawn-shops open. But I'm hoping that won't be necessary; I'mhoping I can arrange matters without going to that extreme. Meanwhile, you agree that these jewels must be returned?"

"Of course, " she affirmed gently. 

"Then ... Will you accompany me when I replace them? There won't be anydanger: I promise you that. Indeed, it would be more hazardous for youto wait for me elsewhere while I attended to the matter alone. And I'dlike you to be convinced of my good faith. "

"Don't you think you can trust me for that as well?" she asked, with aflash of humour. 

"Trust you!"

"To believe ... Mr. Lanyard, " she told him gently but earnestly, "I dobelieve. "

"You make me very happy, " he said ... "but I'd like you to see foryourself.... And I'd be glad not to have to fret about your safety inmy absence. As a bureau of espionage, Popinot's brigade of Apaches iswithout a peer in Europe. I am positively afraid to leave youalone.... "

She was silent. 

"Will you come with me, Miss Shannon?" "That is your sole reason forasking this of me?" she insisted, eyeing him steadily. 

"That I wish you to believe in me--yes. "

"Why?" she pursued, inexorable. 

"Because ... I've already told you. "

"That you want someone's good opinion to cherish.... But why, of allpeople, me--whom you hardly know, of whom what little you do know ishardly reassuring?"

He coloured, and boggled his answer.... "I can't tell you, " heconfessed in the end. 

"Why can't you tell me?"

He stared at her miserably.... "I've no right.... "

"In spite of all I've said, in spite of the faith you so generouslypromise me, in your eyes I must still figure as a thief, a liar, animpostor--self-confessed. Men aren't made over by mere protestations, nor even by their own efforts, in an hour, or a day, or a week. Butgive me a year: if I can live a year in honesty, and earn my bread, and so prove my strength--then, perhaps, I might find the courage, the--the effrontery to tell you why I want your good opinion.... NowI've said far more than I meant or had any right to. I hope, " heventured pleadingly--"you're not offended. "

Only an instant longer could she maintain her direct and unflinchinglook. Then, his meaning would no more be ignored. Her lashes fell; atide of crimson flooded her face; and with a quick movement, pushingher chair a little from the table, she turned aside. But she saidnothing. 

He remained as he had been, bending eagerly toward her. And in the longminute that elapsed before either spoke again, both became oddlyconscious of the silence brooding in that lonely little house, of theirisolation from the world, of their common peril and mutual dependence. 

"I'm afraid, " Lanyard said, after a time--"I'm afraid I know what youmust be thinking. One can't do your intelligence the injustice toimagine that you haven't understood me--read all that was in my mindand"--his voice fell--"in my heart. I own I was wrong to speak sotransparently, to suggest my regard for you, at such a time, undersuch conditions. I am truly sorry, and beg you to consider unsaid allthat I should not have said.... After all, what earthly difference canit make to you if one thief more decides suddenly to reform?"

That brought her abruptly to her feet, to show him a face of glowingloveliness and eyes distractingly dimmed and softened. 

"No!" she implored him breathlessly--"please--you mustn't spoil it!You've paid me the finest of compliments, and one I'm glad and gratefulfor ... And would I might think I deserved! ... You say you need a yearto prove yourself? Then--I've no right to say this--and you mustplease not ask me what I mean--then I grant you that year. A year Ishall wait to hear from you from the day we part, here in Paris.... Andto-night, I will go with you, too, and gladly, since you wish it!"

And then as he, having risen, stood at loss, thrilled, and incredulous, with a brave and generous gesture she offered him her hand. 

"Mr. Lanyard, I promise.... "

To every woman, even the least lovely, her hour of beauty: it had notentered Lanyard's mind to think this woman beautiful until that moment. Of her exotic charm, of the allure of her pensive, plaintive prettiness, he had been well aware; even as he had been unable to deny to himselfthat he was all for her, that he loved her with all the strength thatwas his; but not till now had he understood that she was the one womanwhose loveliness to him would darken the fairness of all others. 

And for a little, holding her tremulous hand upon his finger-tips asthough he feared to bruise it with a ruder contact, he could not takehis eyes from her. 

Then reverently he bowed his head and touched his lips to that hand ... And felt it snatched swiftly away, and started back, aghast, the idyllroughly dissipated, the castle of his dreams falling in thunders roundhis ears. 

In the studio-skylight overhead a pane of glass had fallen in with ashattering crash as ominous as the Trump of Doom. 

XIV

RIVE DROIT

Falling without presage upon the slumberous hush enveloping the littlehouse marooned in that dead back-water of Paris, the shock of thatalarm drove the girl back from the table to the nearest wall, and for amoment held her there, transfixed in panic. 

To the wide, staring eyes that questioned his so urgently, Lanyardpromptly nodded grave reassurance. He hadn't stirred since his first, involuntary and almost imperceptible start, and before the lastfragment of splintered glass had tinkled on the floor above, he wascalming her in the most matter-of-fact manner. 

"Don't be alarmed, " he said. "It's nothing--merely Solon's skylightgone smash!"

"You call that nothing!" she cried gustily. "What caused it, then?"

"My negligence, " he admitted gloomily. "I might have known that widespread of glass with the studio electrics on, full-blaze, would givethe show away completely. The house is known to be unoccupied; and itwasn't to be expected that both the police and Popinot's crew wouldoverlook so shining a mark.... And it's all my fault, my oversight: Ishould have thought of it before.... High time I was quitting a gameI've no longer the wit to play by the rules!"

"But the police would never... !"

"Certainly not. This is Popinot's gentle method of letting us know he'son the job. But I'll just have a look, to make sure.... No: stop whereyou are, please. I'd rather go alone. "

He swung alertly through to the hall window, pausing there only longenough for an instantaneous glance through the draperies--a fugitivesurvey that discovered the impasse Stanislas no more abandoned to thewind and rain, but tenanted visibly by one at least who lounged beneaththe lonely lamp-post, a shoulder against it: a featureless civiliansilhouette with attention fixed to the little house. 

But Lanyard didn't doubt this one had a dozen fellows stationed withincall.... 

Springing up the stairs, he paused prudently at the top-most step, onequick glance showing him the huge rent gaping black in the skylight, the second the missile of destruction lying amid a litter of brokenglass--a brick wrapped in newspaper, by the look of it. 

Swooping forward, he retrieved this, darted back from the exposed spacebeneath the shattered skylight, and had no more than cleared thethreshold than a second something fell through the gap and burieditself in the parquetry. This was a bullet fired from the roof of oneof the adjoining buildings: confirming his prior reasoning that thefirst missile must have fallen from a height, rather than have beenthrown up from the street, to have wrought such destruction with thosetough, thick panes of clouded glass.... 

Swearing softly to himself, he descended to the kitchen. 

"As I thought, " he said coolly, exhibiting his find. 

"They're on the roof of the next house--though they've posted a sentryin the street, of course. "

"But that second thump--?" the girl demanded. 

"A bullet, " he said, placing the bundle on the table and cutting thestring that bound it: "they were on the quivive and fired when I showedmyself beneath the skylight. "

"But I heard no report, " she objected. 

"A Maxim silencer on the gun, I fancy, " he explained, unwrapping thebrick and smoothing out the newspaper.... "Glad you thought to put onyour hat before you came down, " he added, with an approving glance forthe girl; "it won't be safe to go up to the studio again--of course. "

His nonchalance was far less real than it seemed, but helped to steadyone who was holding herself together with a struggle, on the verge ofnervous collapse. 

"But what are we to do now?" she stammered. "If they've surrounded thehouse--!"

"Don't worry: there's more than one way out, " he responded, frowning atthe newspaper; "I wouldn't have picked this place out, otherwise. Norwould Solon have rented it in the first instance had it lacked anemergency exit, in event of creditors.... Ah--thought so!"

"What--?"

"Troyon's is gone, " he said, without looking up. "This is to-night'sPresse.... '_Totally destroyed by a fire which started at six-thirtythis morning and in less than half an hour had reduced the ancientstructure to a heap of smoking ashes_'! ... " He ran his eye quicklydown the column, selecting salient phrases: "'_Believed to have been ofincendiary origin though the premises were uninsured_'--that's anintelligent guess!... '_Narrow escape of guests in their'_whatyemaycallems.... _'Three lives believed to have been lost ... Onebody recovered charred almost beyond recognition_'--but lateridentified as Roddy--poor devil! ... '_Two guests missing, MonsieurLanyard, the well-known connoisseur of art, who occupied the roomadjoining that of the unfortunate detective, and Mademoiselle Bannon, daughter of the American millionaire, who himself escaped only by amiracle with his secretary Monsieur Greggs, the latter being overcomeby fumes_'--what a shame!... '_Police and firemen searching theruins_'--hm-hm--' _extraordinary interest manifested by the Préfectureindicates a suspicion that the building may have been fired to concealsome crime of a political nature_. '"

Crushing the newspaper between his hands, he tossed it into a corner. "That's all of importance. Thoughtful of Popinot to let me know, thisway! The Préfecture, of course, is humming like a wasp's-nest with themystery of that telegram, signed with Roddy's name and handed in at theBourse an hour or so before he was 'burned to death. ' Too bad I didn'tknow then what I do now; if I'd even remotely suspected Greggs'association with the Pack was via Bannon.... But what's the use? I didmy possible, knowing the odds were heavy against success. "

"What was written on the paper?" the girl demanded obliquely. 

He made his eyes blank: "Written on the paper--?"

"I saw something in red ink at the head of the column. You tried tohide it from me, but I saw.... What was it?"

"Oh--that!" he laughed contemptuously: "just Popinot's impudence--aninvitation to come out and be a good target. "

She shook her head impatiently: "You're not telling me the truth. Itwas something else, or you wouldn't have been so anxious to hide it. "

"Oh, but I assure you--!"

"You can't. Be honest with me, Mr. Lanyard. It was an offer to let youoff if you'd give me up to Bannon--wasn't it?"

"Something like that, " he assented sheepishly--"too absurd forconsideration.... But now we're due to clear out of this before theyfind a way in. Not that they're likely to risk a raid until they'vetried starving us out; but it would be as well to put a good distancebetween us before they find out we've decamped. "

He shrugged into his borrowed raincoat, buttoned it to his chin, andturned down the brim of his felt hat; but when he looked up at the girlagain, he found she hadn't moved; rather, she remained as one spellbound, staring less at than through him, her expression inscrutable. 

"Well, " he ventured--"if you're quite ready, Miss Shannon--?"

"Mr. Lanyard, " she demanded almost sharply--"what was the full wordingof that message?"

"If you must know--"

"I must!"

He lifted a depreciative shoulder. "If you like, I'll read it toyou--or, rather, translate it from the thieves' argot Popinotcomplimented me by using. "

"Not necessary, " she said tersely. "I'll take your word for it.... But you must tell me the truth. "

"As you will.... Popinot delicately suggested that if I leave you here, to be reunited to your alleged parent--if I'll trust to his word ofhonour, that is, and walk out of the house alone, he'll give metwenty-four hours in which to leave Paris. "

"Then only I stand between you and--"

"My dear young woman!" he protested hastily. "Please don't run awaywith any absurd notion like that. Do you imagine I'd consent to treatwith such canaille under any circumstances?"

"All the same, " she continued stubbornly, "I'm the stumbling-block. You're risking your life for me--"

"I'm not, " he insisted almost angrily. 

"You are, " she returned with quiet conviction. 

"Well!" he laughed--"have it your own way!... "

"But it's _my_ life, isn't it? I really don't see how you're going toprevent my risking it for anything that may seem to me worth the risk!"

But she wouldn't laugh; only her countenance, suddenly bereft of itsmutinous expression, softened winningly--and her eyes grew very kind tohim. 

"As long as it's understood I understand--very well, " she said quietly;"I'll do as you wish, Mr. Lanyard. "

"Good!" he cried cheerfully. "I wish, by your leave, to take you out todinner.... This way, please!"

Leading through the scullery, he unbarred a low, arched door in one ofthe walls, discovering the black mouth of a narrow and tunnel-likepassageway. 

With a word of caution, flash-lamp in his left hand, pistol in right, Lanyard stepped out into the darkness. 

In two minutes he was back, with a look of relief. 

"All clear, " he reported; "I felt pretty sure Popinot knew nothing ofthis way out--else we'd have entertained uninvited guests long since. Now, half a minute.... "

The electric meter occupied a place on the wall of the scullery not farfrom the door. Prying open its cover, he unscrewed and removed the fuseplug, plunging the entire house in complete darkness. 

"That'll keep 'em guessing a while!" he explained with a chuckle. "They'll hesitate a long time before rushing a dark house infested by adesperate armed man--if I know anything about that mongrel lot!... Besides, when they do get their courage up, the lack of light willstave off discovery of this way of escape.... And now, one word more. "

A flash of the lamp located her hand. Calmly he possessed himself of it, if without opposition. 

"I've brought you into trouble enough, as it is, through my stupidity, "he said; "but for that, this place should have been a refuge to usuntil we were quite ready to leave Paris. So now we mustn't forget, before we go out to run God-only-knows-what gauntlet, to fix arendezvous in event of separation.... Popinot, for instance, may havedrawn a cordon around the block; we can't tell until we're in thestreet; if he has, you must leave me to entertain them until you'resafe beyond their reach.... Oh, don't worry: I'm perfectly well able totake care of myself.... But afterwards, we must know where to find eachother. Hotels, cafés and restaurants are out of the question: in thefirst place, we've barely money enough for our dinner; besides, they'llbe watched closely; as for our embassies and consulates, they aren'topen at all hours, and will likewise be watched. There remain--unlessyou can suggest something--only the churches; and I can think of nonebetter suited to our purposes than the Sacré-Cour. "

Her fingers tightened gently upon his. 

"I understand, " she said quietly; "if we're obliged to separate, I'm togo direct to the Sacré-Cour and await you there. "

"Right! ... But let's hope there'll be no such necessity. "

Hand-in-hand like frightened children, these two stole down thetunnel-like passageway, through a forlorn little court cramped betweentwo tall old tenements, and so came out into the gloomy, sinuous andsilent rue d'Assas. 

Here they encountered few wayfarers; and to these, preoccupied withanxiety to gain shelter from the inclement night, they seemed, no doubt, some student of the Quarter with his sweetheart--Lanyard in his shabbyraincoat, striding rapidly, head and shoulders bowed against the drivingmist, the girl in her trim Burberry clinging to his arm.... 

Avoiding the nearer stations as dangerous, Lanyard steered a roundaboutcourse through by-ways to the rue de Sèvres station of the Nord-Sudsubway; from which in due course they came to the surface again at theplace de la Concorde, walked several blocks, took a taxicab, and inless than half an hour after leaving the impasse Stanislas werecomfortably ensconced in a cabinet particulier of a little restaurantof modest pretensions just north of Les Halles. 

They feasted famously: the cuisine, if bourgeois, was admirable and, better still, well within the resources of Lanyard's emaciated purse. Nor did he fret with consciousness that, when the bill had been paidand the essential tips bestowed, there would remain in his pockethardly more than cab fare. Supremely self-confident, he harboured nodoubts of a smiling future--now that the dark pages in his record hadbeen turned and sealed by a resolution he held irrevocable. 

His spirits had mounted to a high pitch, thanks to their successfulevasion. He was young, he was in love, he was hungry, he was--inshort--very much alive. And the consciousness of common peril knittedan enchanting intimacy into their communications. For the first time inhis history Lanyard found himself in the company of a woman with whomhe dared--and cared--to speak without reserve: a circumstanceintrinsically intoxicating. And stimulated by her unquestionableinterest and sympathy, he did talk without reserve of old Troyon's andits drudge, Marcel; of Bourke and his wanderings; of the education ofthe Lone Wolf and his career, less in pride than in relief that it wasended; of the future he must achieve for himself. 

And sitting with chin cradled on the backs of her interlaced fingers, the girl listened with such indulgence as women find always for theirlovers. Of herself she had little to say: Lanyard filled in to histaste the outlines of the simple history of a young woman of goodfamily obliged to become self-supporting. 

And if at times her grave eyes clouded and her attention wandered, itwas less in ennui than because of occult trains of thought set astir bysome chance word or phrase of Lanyard's. 

"I'm boring you, " he surmised once with quick contrition, waking up tothe fact that he had monopolized the conversation for many minutes onend. 

She shook a pensive head. "No, again.... But I wonder, do youappreciate the magnitude of the task you've undertaken?"

"Possibly not, " he conceded arrogantly; "but it doesn't matter. Theheavier the odds, the greater the incentive to win. "

"But, " she objected, "you've told me a curious story of one who neverhad a chance or incentive to 'go straight'--as you put it. And yet youseem to think that an overnight resolution to reform is all that'sneeded to change all the habits of a life-time. You persuade me of yoursincerity of today; but how will it be with you tomorrow--and not somuch tomorrow as six months from tomorrow, when you've found the goingrough and know you've only to take one step aside to gain a smooth andeasy way?"

"If I fail, then, it will be because I'm unfit--and I'll go under, andnever be heard of again.... But I shan't fail. It seems to me the veryfact that I want to go straight is proof enough that I've somethinginherently decent in me to build on. "

"I do believe that, and yet... " She lowered her head and began to tracea meaningless pattern on the cloth before she resumed. "You've given meto understand I'm responsible for your sudden awakening, that it'sbecause of a regard conceived for me you're so anxious to become anhonest man. Suppose ... Suppose you were to find out ... You'd beenmistaken in me?"

"That isn't possible, " he objected promptly. 

She smiled upon him wistfully--and leniently from her remote coign ofsuperior intuitive knowledge of human nature. 

"But if it were--?"

"Then--I think, " he said soberly--"I think I'd feel as though therewere nothing but emptiness beneath my feet!"

"And you'd backslide--?"

"How can I tell?" he expostulated. "It's not a fair question. I don'tknow what I'd do, but I do know it would need something damnable toshake my faith in you!"

"You think so now, " she said tolerantly. "But if appearances wereagainst me--"

"They'd have to be black!"

"If you found I had deceived you--?"

"Miss Shannon!" He threw an arm across the table and suddenlyimprisoned her hand. "There's no use beating about the bush. You've gotto know--"

She drew back suddenly with a frightened look and a monosyllable ofsharp protest: "No!"

"But you must listen to me. I want you to understand.... Bourke used to say to me: 'The man who lets love into his life opens a door no mortalhand can close--and God only knows what will follow in!' And Bourke wasright.... Now that door is open in my heart, and I think that whateverfollows in won't be evil or degrading.... Oh, I've said it a dozendifferent ways of indirection, but I may as well say it squarely now:I love you; it's love of you makes me want to go straight--the hope thatwhen I've proved myself you'll maybe let me ask you to marry me.... Perhaps you're in love with a better man today; I'm willing to chancethat; a year brings many changes. Perhaps there's something I don'tfathom in your doubting my strength and constancy. Only the outcome candeclare that. But please understand this: if I fail to make good, itwill be no fault of yours; it will be because I'm unfit and have provedit.... All I ask is what you've generously promised me: opportunity tocome to you at the end of the year and make my report.... And then, ifyou will, you can say no to the question I'll ask you and I shan'tresent it, and it won't ruin me; for if a man can stick to a purposefor a year, he can stick to it forever, with or without the love of thewoman he loves. "

She heard him out without attempt at interruption, but her answer wasprefaced by a sad little shake of her head. 

"That's what makes it so hard, so terribly hard, " she said.... "Ofcourse I've understood you. All that you've said by indirection, andmuch besides, has had its meaning to me. And I'm glad and proud of thehonour you offer me. But I can't accept it; I can never accept it--notnow nor a year from now. It wouldn't be fair to let you go on hoping Imight some time consent to marry you.... For that's impossible. "

"You--forgive me--you're not already married?"

"No.... "

"Or promised?"

"No.... "

"Or in love with someone else?"

Again she told him, gently, "No. "

His face cleared. He squared his shoulders. He even mustered up a smile. 

"Then it isn't impossible. No human obstacle exists that time can'toverthrow. In spite of all you say, I shall go on hoping with all myheart and soul and strength. "

"But you don't understand--"

"Can you tell me--make me understand?"

After a long pause, she told him once more, and very sadly: "No. "

XV

SHEER IMPUDENCE

Though it had been nearly eight when they entered the restaurant, itwas something after eleven before Lanyard called for his bill. 

"We've plenty of time, " he had explained; "it'll be midnight before wecan move. The gentle art of house-breaking has its technique, you know, its professional ethics: we can't well violate the privacy of MadameOmber's strong-box before the caretakers on the premises are soundasleep. It isn't _done_, you know, it isn't class, to go burglarizingwhen decent, law-abiding folk are wide-awake.... Meantime we're betteroff here than trapezing the streets.... "

It's a silent web of side ways and a gloomy one by night that backs upnorth of Les Halles: old Paris, taciturn and sombre, steeped in itsmemories of grim romance. But for infrequent, flickering, corner lamps, the street that welcomed them from the doors of the warm and cosyrestaurant was as dismal as an alley in some city of the dead. Itshouses with their mansard roofs and boarded windows bent their headstogether like mutes at a wake, black-cloaked and hooded; seldom oneshowed a light; never one betrayed by any sound the life that lurkedbehind its jealous blinds. Now again the rain had ceased and, thoughthe sky remained overcast, the atmosphere was clear and brisk with atouch of frost, in grateful contrast to the dull and muggy airs thathad obtained for the last twenty-four hours. 

"We'll walk, " Lanyard suggested--"if you don't mind--part of the way atleast; it'll eat up time, and a bit of exercise will do us both good. "

The girl assented quietly.... 

The drum of their heels on fast-drying sidewalks struck sharp echoesfrom the silence of that drowsy quarter, a lonely clamour that renderedit impossible to ignore their apparent solitude--as impossible as itwas for Lanyard to ignore the fact that they were followed. 

The shadow dogging them on the far side of the street, some fifty yardsbehind, was as noiseless as any cat; but for this circumstance--had itmoved boldly with unmuffled footsteps--Lanyard would have been slow tobelieve it concerned with him, so confident had be felt, till that moment, of having given the Pack the slip. 

And from this he diagnosed still another symptom of the Pack'sincurable stupidity!

Supremely on the alert, he had discovered the pursuit before they leftthe block of the restaurant. Dissembling, partly to avoid alarming thegirl, partly to trick the spy, he turned this way and that roundseveral corners, until quite convinced that the shadow was dedicated tohimself exclusively, then promptly revised his first purpose and, instead of sticking to darker back ways, struck out directly for thebroad, well-lighted and lively boulevard de Sébastopol. 

Crossing this without a backward glance, he turned north, seeking somecafé whose arrangements suited his designs; and, presently, though notbefore their tramp had brought them almost to the Grand Boulevards, found one to his taste, a cheerful and well-lighted establishmentoccupying a corner, with entrances from both streets. A hedge offorlorn fir-trees knee-deep in wooden tubs guarded its terrasse ofround metal tables and spindle-shanked chairs; of which few wereoccupied. Inside, visible through the wide plate-glass windows, perhapsa dozen patrons sat round half as many tables--no more--idling overdominoes and gossip: steady-paced burghers with their wives, men insmall ways of business of the neighbourhood. 

Entering to this company, Lanyard selected a square marble-topped tableagainst the back wall, entrenched himself with the girl upon the seatbehind it, ordered coffee and writing materials, and proceeded to lighta cigarette with the nonchalance of one to whom time is of noconsequence. 

"What is it?" the girl asked guardedly as the waiter scurried off toexecute his commands. "You've not stopped in here for nothing!"

"True--but lower, please!" he begged. "If we speak English loud enoughto be heard it will attract attention.... The trouble is, we'refollowed. But as yet our faithful shadow doesn't know we knowit--unless he's more intelligent than he seems. Consequently, if Idon't misjudge him, he'll take a table outside, the better to keep aneye on us, as soon as he sees we're apparently settled for some time. More than that, I've got a note to write--and not merely as asubterfuge. This fellow must be shaken off, and as long as we sticktogether, that can't well be done. "

He interrupted himself while the waiter served them, then added sugarto his coffee, arranged the ink bottle and paper to his satisfaction, and bent over his pen. 

"Come closer, " he requested--"as if you were interested in what I'mwriting--and amused; if you can laugh a bit at nothing, so much thebetter. But keep a sharp eye on the windows. You can do that morereadily than I, more naturally from under the brim of your hat.... Andtell me what you see.... "

He had no more than settled into the swing of composition, than thegirl--apparently following his pen with closest attention--giggledcoquettishly and nudged his elbow. 

"The window to the right of the door we came in, " she said, smilingdelightedly; "he's standing behind the fir-trees, staring in. "

"Can you make out who he is?" Lanyard asked without moving his lips. 

"Nothing more than that he's tall, " she said with every indication ofenjoying a tremendous joke. "His face is all in shadow.... "

"Patience!" counselled the adventurer. "He'll take heart of couragewhen convinced of our innocence. "

He poised his pen, examined the ceiling for inspiration, and permitteda slow smile to lighten his countenance. 

"You'll take this note, if you please, " he said cheerfully, "to theaddress on the envelope, by taxi: it's some distance, near theEtoile.... A long chance, but one we must risk; give me half an houralone and I'll guarantee to discourage this animal one way or another. You understand?"

"Perfectly, " she laughed archly. 

He bent and for a few moments wrote busily. 

"Now he's walking slowly round the corner, never taking his eyes fromyou, " the girl reported, shoulder to his shoulder and headdistractingly near his head. 

"Good. Can you see him any better?"

"Not yet.... "

"This note, " he said, without stopping his pen or appearing to sayanything "is for the concierge of a building where I rent stabling fora little motor-car. I'm supposed there to be a chauffeur in the employof a crazy Englishman, who keeps me constantly travelling with him backand forth between Paris and London. That's to account for theirregularity with which I use the car. They know me, monsieur andmadame of the conciergerie, as Pierre Lamier; and I _think_ they'resafe--not only trustworthy and of friendly disposition, but quitesimple-minded; I don't believe they gossip much. So the chances are DeMorbihan and his gang know nothing of the arrangement. But that's allspeculation--a forlorn hope!"

"I understand, " the girl observed. "He's still prowling up and downoutside the hedge. "

"We're not going to need that car tonight; but the hôtel of MadameOmber is close by; and I'll follow and join you there within an hour atmost. Meantime, this note will introduce you to the concierge and hiswife--I hope you won't mind--as my fiancée. I'm telling them we becameengaged in England, and I've brought you to Paris to visit my mother inMontrouge; but am detained by my employer's business; and will theyplease give you shelter for an hour. "

"He's coming in, " the girl announced quietly. 

"In here?"

"No--merely inside the row of little trees. "

"Which entrance?"

"The boulevard side. He's taken the corner table. Now a waiter's goingout to him. "

"You can see his face now?" Lanyard asked, sealing thenote. 

"Not well.... "

"Nothing you recognize about him, eh?"

"Nothing.... "

"You know Popinot and Wertheimer by sight?"

"No; they're only names to me; De Morbihan and Mr. Bannon mentionedthem last night. "

"It won't be Popinot, " Lanyard reflected, addressing the envelope;"he's tubby. "

"This man is tall and slender. "

"Wertheimer, possibly. Does he suggest an Englishman, any way?"

 "Not in the least. He wears a moustache--blond--twisted up like theKaiser's. "

Lanyard made no reply; but his heart sank, and he shiveredimperceptibly with foreboding. He entertained no doubt but that theworst had happened, that to the number of his enemies in Paris wasadded Ekstrom. 

One furtive glance confirmed this inference. He swore bitterly, ifprivately and with a countenance of child-like blandness, as he sippedthe coffee and finished his cigarette. 

"Who is it, then?" she asked. "Do you know him?"

He reckoned swiftly against distressing her, recalling his mention ofthe fact that Ekstrom was credited with the Huysman murder. 

"Merely a hanger-on of De Morbihan's, " he told her lightly; "aspineless animal--no trouble about scaring him off.... Now take thisnote, please, and we'll go. But as we reach the door, turn back--and goout the other. You'll find a taxi without trouble. And stop fornothing!"

He had shown foresight in paying when served, and was consequently ableto leave abruptly, without giving Ekstrom time to shy. Rising smartly, he pushed the table aside. The girl was no less quick, and little lesssensitive to the strain of the moment; but as she passed him her lasheslifted and her eyes were all his for the instant. 

"Good night, " she breathed--"good night ... My dear!"

She could have guessed no more shrewdly what he needed to nerve himagainst the impending clash. He hadn't hesitated as to his only course, but till then he'd been horribly afraid, knowing too well thedesperate cast of the outlawed German's nature. But now he couldn'tfail. 

He strode briskly toward the door to the boulevard, out of the cornerof his eye aware that Ekstrom, taken by surprise, half-started from hischair, then sank back. 

Two paces from the entrance the girl checked, murmured in French, "Oh, my handkerchief!" and turned briskly back. Without pause, as though hehadn't heard, Lanyard threw the door wide and swung out, turningdirectly to the spy. At the same time he dropped a hand into the pocketwhere nestled his automatic. 

Fortunately Ekstrom had chosen a table in a corner well removed fromany in use. Lanyard could speak without fear of being overheard. 

But for a moment he refrained. Nor did Ekstrom speak or stir; sittingsideways at his table, negligently, with knees crossed, the Germanlikewise kept a hand buried in the pocket of his heavy, dark ulster. Thus neither doubted the other's ill-will or preparedness. And throughthirty seconds of silence they remained at pause, each striving withall his might to read the other's purpose in his eyes. But there wasthis distinction to be drawn between their attitudes, that whereasLanyard's gaze challenged, the German's was sullenly defiant. Andpresently Lanyard felt his heart stir with relief: the spy's glance hadwinced. 

"Ekstrom, " the adventurer said quietly, "if you fire, I'll get youbefore I fall. That's a simple statement of fact. "

The German hesitated, moistened the corners of his lips with a nervoustongue, but contented himself with a nod of acknowledgement. 

"Take your hand off that gun, " Lanyard ordered. "Remember--I've only tocry your name aloud to have you torn to pieces by these people. Yourlife's not worth a moment's purchase in Paris--as you should know. "

The German hesitated, but in his heart knew that Lanyard didn'texaggerate. The murder of the inventor had exasperated all France; andthough tonight's weather kept a third of Paris within doors, there wasstill a tide of pedestrians fluent on the sidewalk, beyond the flimsybarrier of firs, that would thicken to a ravening mob upon the leastexcuse. 

He had mistaken his man; he had thought that Lanyard, even if aware ofhis pursuit, would seek to shake it off in flight rather than turn andfight--and fight here, of all places!

"Do you hear me?" Lanyard continued in the same level and unyieldingtone. "Bring both hands in sight--upon the table!"

There was no more hesitation: Ekstrom obeyed, if with the sullen graceof a wild beast that would and could slay its trainer with one sweep ofits paw--if only it dared. 

For the first time since leaving the girl Lanyard relaxed his vigilantwatch over the man long enough for one swift glance through the windowat his side. But she was already vanished from the café. 

He breathed more freely now. 

"Come!" he said peremptorily. "Get up. We've got to talk, Ipresume--thrash this matter out--and we'll come to no decision here. "

"Where do we go, then?" the German demanded suspiciously. 

"We can walk. "

Irresolutely the spy uncrossed his knees, but didn't rise. 

"Walk?" he repeated, "walk where?"

"Up the boulevard, if you like--where the lights are brightest. "

"Ah!"--with a malignant flash of teeth--"but I don't trust you. "

Lanyard laughed: "You wear only one shoe of that pair, my dearcaptain! We're a distrustful flock, we birds of prey. Come along! Whysit there sulking, like a spoiled child? You've made an ass ofyourself, following me to Paris; sadly though you bungled that job inLondon, I gave you credit for more wit than to poke your head into thelion's mouth here. But--admitting that--why not be graceful about it?Here am I, amiably treating you like an equal: you might at least showgratitude enough to accept my invitation to flâner yourself!"

With a grunt the spy got upon his feet, while Lanyard stood back, against the window, and made him free of the narrow path between thetree-tubs and the tables. 

"After you, my dear Adolph... !"

The German paused, half turned towards him, choking with rage, hissuffused face darkly relieving its white scars won at Heidelberg. Atthis, with a nod of unmistakable meaning, Lanyard advanced the muzzleof his pocketed weapon; and with an ugly growl the German moved on andout to the sidewalk, Lanyard respectfully an inch or two behind hiselbow. 

"To your right, " he requested pleasantly--"if it's all the same to you:I've business on the Boulevards... "

Ekstrom said nothing for the moment, but sullenly yielded to thesuggestion. 

"By the way, " the adventurer presently pursued, "you might be goodenough to inform me how you knew where we were dining--eh?"

"If it interests you--"

"I own it does--tremendously!"

"Pure accident: I happened to be sitting in the café, and caught aglimpse of you through the door as you went upstairs. Therefore Iwaited till the waiter asked for your bill at the caisse, thenstationed myself outside. "

"But why? Can you tell me what you thought to accomplish?"

"You know well, " Ekstrom muttered. "After what happened in London ... It's your life or mine!"

"Spoken like a true villain! But it seems to me you overlooked aconspicuous chance to accomplish your hellish design, back there in theside streets. "

"Would I be such a fool as to shoot you down before finding out whatyou've done with those plans?"

"You might as well have, " Lanyard informed him lightly ... "For youwon't know otherwise. "

With an infuriated oath the German stopped short: but he dared notignore the readiness with which his tormentor imitated the manoeuvreand kept the pistol trained through the fabric of his raincoat. 

"Yes--?" the adventurer enquired with an exasperating accent ofsurprise. 

"Understand me, " Ekstrom muttered vindictively: "next time I'll showyou no mercy--"

"But if there _is_ no next time? We're not apt to meet again, you know. "

"That's something beyond your knowledge--"

"You think so? ... But shan't we resume our stroll? People mightnotice us standing here--you with your teeth bared like anill-tempered dog.... Oh, thank you!"

And as they moved on, Lanyard continued: "Shall I explain why we'renot apt to meet again?"

"If it amuses you. "

"Thanks once more! ... For the simple reason that Paris satisfies me;so here I stop. "

"Well?" the spy asked with a blank sidelong look. 

"Whereas you are leaving Paris tonight. "

"What makes you think that?"

"Because you value your thick hide too highly to remain, my dearcaptain. " Having gained the corner of the boulevard St. Denis, Lanyardpulled up. "One moment, by your leave. You see yonder the entrance tothe Metro--don't you? And here, a dozen feet away, a perfectlyable-bodied sergent de ville? Let this fateful conjunction impress youproperly: for five minutes after you have descended to the Métro--or assoon as the noise of a train advises me you've had one chance to getaway--I shall mention casually to the sergo--that I have seen CaptainEk--"

"Hush!" the German protested in a hiss of fright. 

"But certainly: I've no desire to embarrass you: publicity must beterribly distasteful to one of your sensitive and retiringdisposition.... But I trust you understand me? On the one hand, there'sthe Métro; on the other, there's the flic; while here, you must admit, am I, as large as life and very much on the job! ... And inasmuch as Ishall certainly mention my suspicions to the minion of the law--asaforesaid--I'd advise you to be well out of Paris before dawn!"

There was murder in the eyes of the spy as he lingered, truculentlyglowering at the smiling adventurer; and for an instant Lanyard waswell-persuaded he had gone too far, that even there, even on that busyjunction of two crowded thoroughfares, Ekstrom would let his temper getthe better of his judgment and risk everything in an attempt upon thelife of his despoiler. 

But he was mistaken. 

With a surly shrug the spy swung about and marched straight to the kioskof the underground railway, into which, without one backward glance, hedisappeared. 

Two minutes later the earth beneath Lanyard's feet quaked with the crashand rumble of a north-bound train. 

He waited three minutes longer; but Ekstrom didn't reappear; and atlength convinced that his warning had proved effectual, Lanyard turnedand made off. 

XVI

RESTITUTION

For all that success had rewarded his effrontery, Lanyard's mind wasfar from easy during the subsequent hour that he spent beforeattempting to rejoin Lucy Shannon, dodging, ducking and doubling acrossParis and back again, with design to confuse and confound any jackalsof the Pack that might have picked up his trail as adventitiously asEkstrom had. 

His delight, indeed, in discomfiting his dupe was chilled byapprehension that it were madness, simply because the spy had provedunexpectedly docile, to consider the affaire Ekstrom closed. In thevery fact of that docility inhered something strange and ominous, apremonition of evil which was hardly mitigated by finding the girl safeand sound under the wing of madame la concierge, in the little court ofprivate stables, where he rented space for his car, off the rue desAcacias. 

Monsieur le concierge, it appeared, was from home; and madame, thick-witted, warm-hearted, simple body that she was, discovered aphase of beaming incuriosity most grateful to the adventurer, enablinghim as it did to dispense with embarrassing explanations, and to whiskthe girl away as soon as he liked. 

This last was just as soon as personal examination had reassured himwith respect to his automobile--superficially an ordinary motor-cab ofthe better grade, but with an exceptionally powerful engine hiddenbeneath its hood. A car of such character, passing readily as thetown-car of any family in modest circumstances, or else as what Pariscalls a voiture de remise (a hackney car without taximeter) was atremendous convenience, enabling its owner to scurry at will aboutcab-ridden Paris free of comment. But it could not be left standing inpublic places at odd hours, or for long, without attracting theinterest of the police, and so was useless in the present emergency. Lanyard, however, entertained a shrewd suspicion that his plans mightall miscarry and the command of a fast-travelling car soon proveessential to his salvation; and he cheerfully devoted a good half-hourto putting the motor in prime trim for the road. 

With this accomplished--and the facts established through discreetinterrogation of madame la concierge that no enquiries had been madefor "Pierre Lamier, " and that she had noticed no strange or otherwisequestionable characters loitering in the neighbourhood of late--he wasready for his first real step toward rehabilitation.... 

It was past one in the morning when, with the girl on his arm, heissued forth into the dark and drowsy rue des Acacias and, movingswiftly, crossed the avenue de la Grande Armée. Thereafter, avoidingmain-travelled highways, they struck southward through tangled sidestreets to aristocratic Passy, skirted the boulevards of thefortifications, and approached the private park of La Muette. 

The hôtel particulier of that wealthy and amiable eccentric, MadameHélène Omber, was a souvenir of those days when Passy had been suburban. A survival of the Revolution, a vast, dour pile that had known fewchanges since the days of its construction, it occupied a large, unkemptpark, irregularly triangular in shape, bounded by two streets and anavenue, and rendered private by high walls crowned with broken glass. Carriage gates opened on the avenue, guarded by a porter's lodge; whileof three posterns that pierced the walls on the side streets, one onlywas in general use by the servants of the establishment; the other twowere presumed to be permanently sealed. 

Lanyard, however, knew better. 

When they had turned off from the avenue, he slackened pace and moved atcaution, examining the prospect narrowly. 

On the one hand rose the wall of the park, topped by naked, soughinglimbs of neglected trees; on the other, across the way, a block of tallold dwellings, withdrawn behind jealous garden walls, showed stupid, sleepy faces and lightless eyes. 

Within the perspective of the street but three shapes stirred; Lanyardand the girl in the shadow of the wall, and a disconsolate, misprizedcat that promptly decamped like a terror-stricken ghost. 

Overhead the sky was breaking and showing ebon patches and infrequentstars through a wind-harried wrack of cloud. The night had grownsensibly colder, and noisy with the rushing sweep of a new-sprung wind. 

Several yards from the postern-gate, Lanyard paused definitely, andspoke for the first time in many minutes; for the nature of theirerrand had oppressed the spirits of both and enjoined an unnaturalsilence, ever since their departure from the rue des Acacias. 

"This is where we stop, " he said, with a jerk of his head toward thewall; "but it's not too late--"

"For what?" the girl asked quickly. 

"I promised you no danger; but now I've thought it over, I can'tpromise that: there's always danger. And I'm afraid for you. It's notyet too late for you to turn back and wait for me in a safer place. "

"You asked me to accompany you for a special purpose, " she argued; "youbegged me to come with you, in fact.... Now that I have agreed and comethis far, I don't mean to turn back without good reason. "

His gesture indicated uneasy acquiescence. "I should never have askedthis of you. I think I must have been a little mad. If anything shouldcome of this to injure you... !"

"If you mean to do what you promised--"

"Do you doubt my sincerity?"

"It was your own suggestion that you leave me no excuse for doubt... "

Without further remonstrance, if with a mind beset with misgivings, heled on to the gate--a blank door of wood, painted a dark green, deeplyrecessed in the wall. 

In proof of his assertion that he had long since made every preparationto attack the premises, Lanyard had a key ready and in the lock almostbefore they reached it. 

And the door swung back easily and noiselessly as though on well-greasedhinges. As silently it shut them in. 

They stood upon a weed-grown gravel path, hedged about with thick massesof shrubbery; but the park was as black as a pocket; and the heavyeffluvia of wet mould, decaying weeds and rotting leaves that choked theair, seemed only to render the murk still more opaque. 

But Lanyard evidently knew his way blindfold: though motives of prudencemade him refrain from using his flash-lamp, he betrayed not the leastincertitude in his actions. 

Never once at loss for the right turning, he piloted the girl swiftlythrough a bewildering black labyrinth of paths, lawns and thickets.... 

In due course he pulled up, and she discovered that they had come outupon a clear space of lawn, close beside the featureless, looming bulk ofa dark and silent building. 

An admonitory grasp tightened upon her fingers, and she caught hissingularly penetrating yet guarded whisper:

"This is the back of the house--the service-entrance. From this door abroad path runs straight to the main service gateway; you can't mistakeit; and the gate itself has a spring lock, easy enough to open from theinside. Remember this in event of trouble. We might become separated inthe darkness and confusion.... "

Gently returning the pressure, "I understand, " she said in a whisper. 

Immediately he drew her on to the house, pausing but momentarily before awide doorway; one half of which promptly swung open, and as soon as theyhad passed through, closed with no perceptible jar or click. And thenLanyard's flash-lamp was lancing the gloom on every hand, swiftly rakingthe bounds of a large, panelled servants' hall, until it picked out thefoot of a flight of steps at the farther end. To this they movedstealthily over a tiled flooring. 

The ascent of the staircase was accomplished, however, only with infinitecare, Lanyard testing each rise before trusting it with his weight or thegirl's. Twice he bade her skip one step lest the complaints of the ancientwoodwork betray them. In spite of all this, no less than three hideoussqueals were evoked before they gained the top; each indicating a pauseand wait of several breathless seconds. 

But it would seem that such servants as had been left in the house, inthe absence of its chatelaine, either slept soundly or were accustomed tothe midnight concert of those age-old timbers; and without mischance, atlength, they entered the main reception-hall, revealed by the dancingspot-light as a room of noble proportions furnished with sombremagnificence. 

Here the girl was left alone for a few minutes, while Lanyard dartedabove-stairs for a review of the state bedchambers and servants'quarters. 

With a sensation of being crushed and suffocated by the encompassingdark mystery, she nerved herself against a protracted vigil. Theobscurity on every hand seemed alive with stealthy footfalls, whisperings, murmurings, the passage of shrouded shapes of silence andof menace. Her eyes ached, her throat and temples throbbed, her skincrept, her scalp tingled. She seemed to hear a thousand differentnoises of alarm. The only sounds she did not hear werethose--if any--that accompanied Lanyard's departure and return. Had henot been thoughtful enough, when a few feet distant, to give warningwith the light, she might well have greeted with a cry of fright theconsciousness of a presence near her: so silently he moved about. As itwas, she was startled, apprehensive of some misadventure, to find himback so soon; for he hadn't been gone three minutes. 

"It's quite all right, " he announced in hushed accents--no longerwhispering. "There are just five people in the house aside fromourselves--all servants, asleep in the rear wing. We've got a clearfield--if no excuse for taking foolish chances! However, we'll befinished and off again in less than ten minutes. This way. "

That way led to a huge and gloomy library at one extreme of a chain ofgreat salons, a veritable treasure-gallery of exquisite furnishings andauthentic old masters. As they moved slowly through these chambersLanyard kept his flash-lamp busy; involuntarily, now and again, hechecked the girl before some splendid canvas or extraordinary antique. 

"I've always meant to happen in some day with a moving-van and loot thisplace properly!" he confessed with a little affected sigh. "Consideredfrom the viewpoint of an expert practitioner in my--ah--late profession, it's a sin and a shame to let all this go neglected, when it's sopoorly guarded. The old lady--Madame Omber, you know--has all the moneythere is, approximately, and when she dies all these beautiful thingsgo to the Louvre; for she's without kith or kin. "

"But how did she manage to accumulate them all?" the girl wondered. "It's the work of generations of passionate collectors, " he explained. "The late Monsieur Omber was the last of his dynasty; he and hisforebears brought together the paintings and the furniture; madame addedthe Orientals gathered together by her first husband, and her owncollection of antique jewellery and precious stones--_her_ particularfad.... "

As he spoke the light of the flash-lamp was blotted out. An instantlater the girl heard a little clashing noise, of curtain rings slidingalong a pole; and this was thrice repeated. 

Then, following another brief pause, a switch clicked; and streaming fromthe hood of a portable desk-lamp, a pool of light flooded the heart of avast place of shadows, an apartment whose doors and windows alike werecloaked with heavy draperies that hung from floor to ceiling in long andshining folds. Immense black bookcases lined the walls, their shelvescrowded with volumes in rich bindings; from their tops pallid marble maskspeered down inquisitively, leering and scowling at the intruders. A hugemantelpiece of carved marble, supporting a great, dark mirror, occupiedthe best of one wall, beneath it a wide, deep fireplace yawned, partlyshielded by a screen of wrought brass and crystal. In the middle of theroom stood a library table of mahogany; huge leather chairs and couchesencumbered the remainder of its space. And the corner to the right of thefireplace was shut off by a high Japanese screen of cinnabar and gold. 

To this Lanyard moved confidently, carrying the lamp. Placing it on thefloor, he grasped one wing of the screen with both hands, and at cost ofconsiderable effort swung it aside, uncovering the face of a huge, old-style safe built into the wall. 

For several seconds--but not for many--Lanyard studied this problemintently, standing quite motionless, his head lowered and thrust forward, hands resting on his hips. Then turning, he nodded an invitation to drawnearer. 

"My last job, " he said with a smile oddly lighted by the lamp at hisfeet--"and my easiest, I fancy. Sorry, too, for I'd rather have liked toshow off a bit. But this old-fashioned tin bank gives no excuse forspectacular methods!"

"But, " the girl objected, "You've brought no tools!"

"Oh, but I have!" And fumbling in a pocket, Lanyard produced a pencil. "Behold!" he laughed, brandishing it. 

She knitted thoughtful brows: "I don't understand. "

"All I need--except this. "

Crossing to the desk, he found a sheet of note-paper and, folding it, returned. 

"Now, " he said, "give me five minutes.... "

Kneeling, he gave the combination-knob a smart preliminary twirl, thenrested a shoulder against the sheet of painted iron, his cheek to itssmooth, cold cheek, his ear close beside the dial; and with thepractised fingers of a master locksmith began to manipulate the knob. 

Gently, tirelessly, to and fro he twisted, turned, raced, and checkedthe combination, caressing it, humouring it, wheedling it, inexorablyquestioning it in the dumb language his fingers spoke so deftly. And inhis ear the click and whir and thump of shifting wards and tumblersmurmured articulate response in the terms of their cryptic code. 

Now and again, releasing the knob and sitting back on his heels, hewould bend intent scrutiny to the dial; note the position of thecombination, and with the pencil jot memoranda on the paper. Thishappened perhaps a dozen times, at intervals of irregular duration. 

He worked diligently, in a phase of concentration that apparentlyexcluded from his consciousness the near proximity of the girl, whostood--or rather stooped, half-kneeling--less than a pace from hisshoulder, watching the process with interest hardly less keen than hisown. 

Yet when one faint, odd sound broke the slumberous silence of thesalons, instantly he swung around and stood erect in a single movement, gaze to the curtains. 

But it had only been a premonitory rumble in the throat of a tall oldclock about to strike in the room beyond. And as its sonorous chimesheralded two deep-toned strokes, Lanyard laughed quietly, intimately, to the girl's startled eyes, and sank back before the safe. 

And now his task was nearly finished. Within another minute he sat backwith face aglow, uttered a hushed exclamation of satisfaction, studiedhis memoranda for a space, then swiftly and with assured movementsthrew the knob and dial into the several positions of the combination, grasped the lever-handle, turned it smartly, and swung the door wideopen. 

"Simple, eh?" he chuckled, with a glance aside to the girl's eager face, bewitchingly flushed and shadowed by the lamp's up-thrown glow--"whenone knows the trick, of course! And now ... If one were not an honestman!"

A wave of his hand indicated the pigeonholes with which the body of thesafe was fitted: wide spaces and deep, stored tight with anextraordinary array of leather jewel-cases, packets of stout paperbound with tape and sealed, and boxes of wood and pasteboard of everyshape and size. 

"They were only her finest pieces, her personal jewels, that MadameOmber took with her to England, " he explained; "she's mad aboutthem ... Never separated from them.... Perhaps the finest collection inthe world, for size and purity of water.... She had the heart to leavethese--all this!"

Lifting a hand he chose at random, dislodged two leather cases, placedthem on the floor, and with a blade of his pen-knife forced theirfastenings. 

From the first the light smote radiance in blinding, coruscant welter. Here was nothing but diamond jewellery, mostly in antique settings. 

He took up a piece and offered it to the girl. She drew back her handinvoluntarily. 

"No!" she protested in a whisper of fright. 

"But just look!" he urged. "There's no danger ... And you'll never seethe like of this again!"

Stubbornly she withheld her hand. "No, no!" she pleaded. "I--I'd rathernot touch it. Put it back. Let's hurry. I--I'm frightened. "

He shrugged and replaced the jewel; then yielded again to impulse ofcuriosity and lifted the lid of the second case. 

It contained nothing but pieces set with coloured stones of the firstorder--emeralds, amethysts, sapphires, rubies, topaz, garnets, lapis-lazuli, jacinthes, jades, fashioned by master-craftsmen intorings, bracelets, chains, brooches, lockets, necklaces, of exquisitedesign: the whole thrown heedlessly together, without order or care. 

For a moment the adventurer stared down soberly at this priceless hoard, his eyes narrowing, his breathing perceptibly quickened. Then with aslow gesture, he reclosed the case, took from his pocket that otherwhich he had brought from London, opened it, and held it aside beneaththe light, for the girl's inspection. 

He looked not once either at its contents or at her, fearing lest hiscountenance betray the truth, that he had not yet succeeded completelyin exorcising that mutinous and rebellious spirit, the Lone Wolf, fromthe tenement over which it had so long held sway; and content with thesound of her quick, startled sigh of amaze that what she now beheldcould so marvellously outshine what had been disclosed by the otherboxes, he withdrew it, shut it, found it a place in the safe, andwithout pause closed the door, shot the bolts, and twirled the dialuntil the tumblers fairly sang. 

One final twist of the lever-handle convincing him that the combinationwas effectively dislocated, he rose, picked up the lamp, replaced it onthe desk with scrupulous care to leave no sign that it had been moved, and looked round to the girl. 

She was where he had left her, a small, tense, vibrant figure among theshadows, her eyes dark pools of wonder in a face of blazing pallor. 

With a high head and his shoulders well back he made a gesturesignifying more eloquently than any words: "All that is ended!"

"And now... ?" she asked breathlessly. 

"Now for our get-away, " he replied with assumed lightness. "Beforedawn we must be out of Paris.... Two minutes, while I straighten thisplace up and leave it as I found it. "

He moved back to the safe, restored the wing of the screen to the spotfrom which he had moved it, and after an instant's close examination ofthe rug, began to explore his pockets. 

"What are you looking for?" the girl enquired. 

"My memoranda of the combination--"

"I have it. " She indicated its place in a pocket of her coat. "You leftit on the floor, and I was afraid you might forget--"

"No fear!" he laughed. "No"--as she offered him the folded paper--"keepit and destroy it, once we're out of this. Now those portières... "

Extinguishing the desk-light, he turned attention to the draperies atdoors and windows.... 

Within five minutes, they were once more in the silent streets of Passy. 

They had to walk as far as the Trocadéro before Lanyard found a fiacre, which he later dismissed at the corner in the Faubourg St. Germain. 

Another brief walk brought them to a gate in the garden wall of aresidence at the junction of two quiet streets. 

"This, I think, ends our Parisian wanderings, " Lanyard announced. "Ifyou'll be good enough to keep an eye out for busybodies--and yourselfas inconspicuous as possible in this doorway... "

And he walked back to the curb, measuring the wall with his eye. 

"What are you going to do?"

He responded by doing it so swiftly that she gasped with surprise:pausing momentarily within a yard of the wall, he gathered himselftogether, shot lithely into the air, caught the top curbing with bothhands, and... 

She heard the soft thud of his feet on the earth of the enclosure; thelatch grated behind her; the door opened. 

"For the last time, " Lanyard laughed quietly, "permit me to invite youto break the law by committing an act of trespass!"

Securing the door, he led her to a garden bench secluded amidconventional shrubbery. 

"If you'll wait here, " he suggested--"well, it will be best. I'll beback as soon as possible, though I may be detained some time. Still, inasmuch as I'm about to break into this hôtel, my motives, which aremost commendable, may be misinterpreted, and I'd rather you'd stophere, with the street at hand. If you hear a noise like trouble, you'veonly to unlatch the gate.... But let's hope my purely benevolentintentions toward the French Republic won't be misconstrued!"

"I'll wait, " she assured him bravely; "but won't you tell me--?"

With a gesture, he indicated the mansion back of the garden. 

"I'm going to break in there to pay an early morning call and impartsome interesting information to a person of considerableconsequence--nobody less, in fact, than Monsieur Ducroy. "

"And who is that?"

"The present Minister of War.... We haven't as yet the pleasure of eachother's acquaintance; still, I think he won't be sorry to see me.... In brief, I mean to make him a present of the Huysman plans and bargainfor our safe-conduct from France. "

Impulsively she offered her hand and, when he, surprised, somewhatdiffidently took it, "Be careful!" she whispered brokenly, her palesweet face upturned to his. "Oh, do be careful! I am afraid foryou.... "

And for a little the temptation to take her in his arms was strongerthan any he had ever known.... 

But remembering his stipulated year of probation, he released her handwith an incoherent mumble, turned, and disappeared in the direction ofthe house. 

XVII

THE FORLORN HOPE

Established behind his splendid mahogany desk in his office at theMinistère de la Guerre, or moving majestically abroad attired in frockcoat and glossy topper, or lending the dignity of his presence to someformal ceremony in that beautiful uniform which appertained unto hisoffice, Monsieur Hector Ducroy cut an imposing figure. 

Abed ... It was sadly otherwise. 

Lanyard switched on the bedside light, turning it so that it struckfull upon the face of the sleeper; and as he sat down, smiled. 

The Minister of War lay upon his back, his distinguished corpulenceseverely dislocating the chaste simplicity of the bed-clothing. Athwarthis shelving chest, fat hands were folded in a gesture affectinglynaïve. His face was red, a noble high-light shone upon the promontoryof his bald pate, his mouth was open. To the best of his unconsciousability he was giving a protracted imitation of a dog-fight; and he wasreally exhibiting sublime virtuosity: one readily distinguishedindividual howls, growls, yelps, against an undertone of blended voicesof excited non-combatants... 

As suddenly as though some one, wearying of the entertainment, hadlifted the needle from that record, it was discontinued. The Ministerof War stirred uneasily in his sleep, muttered a naughty word, openedone eye, scowled, opened the other. 

He blinked furiously, half-blinded but still able to make out thedisconcerting silhouette of a man seated just beyond the glare: a quietpresence that moved not but eyed him steadfastly; an apparition themore arresting because of its very immobility. 

Rapidly the face of the Minister of War lost several shades of purple. He moistened his lips nervously with a thick, dry tongue, andconvulsively he clutched the bed-clothing high and tight about hisneck, as though labouring under the erroneous impression that thesanctity of his person was threatened. 

"What do you want, monsieur?" he stuttered in a still, small voicewhich he would have been the last to acknowledge his own. 

"I desire to discuss a matter of business with monsieur, " replied theintruder after a small pause. "If you will be good enough to calmyourself--"

"I am perfectly calm--"

But here the Minister of War verified with one swift glance an earlierimpression, to the effect that the trespasser was holding somethingthat shone with metallic lustre; and his soul began to curl up roundthe edges. 

"There are eighteen hundred francs in my pocketbook--about, " he managedto articulate. "My watch is on the stand here. You will find the familyplate in the dining-room safe, behind the buffet--the key is on myring--and the jewels of madame my wife are in a small strong-boxbeneath the head of her bed. The combination--"

"Pardon: monsieur labours under a misapprehension, " the housebreakerinterposed drily. "Had one desired these valuables, one would readilyhave taken them without going to the trouble of disturbing the repose ofmonsieur.... I have, however, already mentioned the nature of myerrand. "

"Eh?" demanded the Minister of War. "What is that? But give me of yourmercy one chance to explain! I have never wittingly harmed you, monsieur, and if I have done so without my knowledge, rest assured youhave but to petition me through the proper channels and I will be onlytoo glad to make amends!"

"_Still_ you do not listen!" the other insisted. "Come, MonsieurDucroy--calm yourself. I have not robbed you, because I have no wish torob you. I have not harmed you, for I have no wish to harm you. Norhave I any wish other than to lay before you, as representingGovernment, a certain matter of State business. "

There was silence while the Minister of War permitted this exhortationto sink in. Then, apparently reassured, he sat up in bed and eyed hisuntimely visitor with a glare little short of truculent. 

"Eh? What's that?" he demanded. "Business? What sort of business? Ifyou wish to submit to my consideration any matter of business, how isit you break into my home at dead of night and rouse me in this brutalfashion"--here his voice faltered--"with a lethal weapon pointed at myhead?"

"Monsieur will admit he speaks under an error, " returned the burglar. "I have yet to point this pistol at him. I should be very sorry to feelobliged to do so. I display it, in fact, simply that monsieur may notforget himself and attempt to summon servants in his resentment of this(I admit) unusual method of introducing one's self to his attention. When we understand each other better there will be no need for suchprecautions, and then I shall put my pistol away, so that the sight ofit may no longer annoy monsieur. "

"It is true, I do not understand you, " grumbled the Minister of War. "Why--if your errand be peaceable--break into my house?"

"Because it was urgently necessary to see monsieur instantly. Monsieurwill reflect upon the reception one would receive did one ring the frontdoor-bell and demand audience at three o'clock in the morning!"

"Well ... " Monsieur Ducroy conceded dubiously. Then, on reflection, heiterated the monosyllable testily: "Well! What is it you want, then?"

"I can best explain by asking monsieur to examine--whatI have to show him. "

With this Lanyard dropped the pistol into his coat-pocket, from anotherproduced a gold cigarette-case, and from the store of this last withmeticulous care selected a single cigarette. 

Regarding the Minister of War in a mystifying manner, he began to rollthe cigarette briskly between his palms. A small shower of tobaccosifted to the floor: the rice-paper cracked and came away; and with thebland smile and gesture of a professional conjurer, Lanyard exhibited asmall cylinder of stiff paper between his thumb and index-finger. 

Goggling resentfully, Monsieur Ducroy spluttered:

"Eh--what impudence is this?"

His smile unchanged, Lanyard bent forward and silently dropped thecylinder into the Frenchman's hand. At the same time he offered him apocket magnifying-glass. "What is this?" Ducroy persisted stupidly. "What--what--!"

"If monsieur will be good enough to unroll the papers and examine themwith the aid of this glass--"

With a wondering grunt, the other complied, unrolling several smallsheets of photographer's printing-out paper, to which severalextraordinarily complicated and minute designs had beentransferred--strongly resembling laborious efforts to conventionalize aspider's web. 

But no sooner had Monsieur Ducroy viewed these through the glass, thanhe started violently, uttered an excited exclamation, and subjected themto an examination both prolonged and exacting. 

"Monsieur is, no doubt, now satisfied?" Lanyard enquired when hispatience would endure no longer. 

"These are genuine?" the Minister of War demanded sharply, withoutlooking up. 

"Monsieur can readily discern notations made upon the drawings by theinventor, Georges Huysman, in his own hand. Furthermore, each plan hasbeen marked in the lower left-hand corner with the word '_accepted_'followed by the initials of the German Minister of War. I think thisestablishes beyond dispute the authenticity of these photographs of theplan for Huysman's invention. "

"Yes, " the Minister of War agreed breathlessly. "You have the negativesfrom which these prints were made?"

"Here, " Lanyard said, indicating a second cigarette. 

And then, with a movement so leisurely and careless that his purposewas accomplished before the other in his preoccupation was aware of it, the adventurer leaned forward and swept up the prints from thecounterpane in front of Monsieur Ducroy. 

"Here!" the Frenchman exclaimed. "Why do you do that?"

"Monsieur no longer questions their authenticity?"

"I grant you that. "

"Then I return to myself these prints, pending negotiations for theirtransfer to France. "

"How did you come by them?" demanded Monsieur Ducroy, after a moment'sthought. 

"Need monsieur ask? Is France so ill-served by her spies that you donot already know of the misfortune one Captain Ekstrom recentlysuffered in London?"

Ducroy shook his head. Lanyard received this indication with impatience. It seemed hardly possible that the French Minister of War could beeither so stupid or so ignorant.... 

But with a patient shrug, he proceeded to elucidate. 

"Captain Ekstrom, " he said, "but recently succeeded in photographingthese plans and took them to London to sell to the English. Unfortunately for himself--unhappily for perfidious Albion!--CaptainEkstrom fell in with me and mistook me for Downing Street'srepresentative. And here are the plans. "

"You are--the Lone Wolf--then?"

"I am, as far as concerns you, monsieur, merely the person in possessionof these plans, who offers them through you, to France, for a price. "

"But why introduce yourself to me in this extraordinaryfashion, for a transaction for which the customary channels--with which you must be familiar--are entirely adequate?"

"Simply because Ekstrom has followed me to Paris, " Lanyard explainedindulgently. "Did I venture to approach you in the usual way, my chancesof rounding out a useful life thereafter would be practically nil. Furthermore, my circumstances are such that it has become necessaryfor me to leave France immediately--without an hour's delay--alsosecretly; else I might as well remain here to be butchered.... Now youcommand the only means I know of, to accomplish my purpose. And thatis the price, the only price, you will have to pay me for these plans. "

"I don't understand you. "

"It is on schedule, is it not, that Captain Vauquelin of the AviationCorps is to attempt a non-stop flight from Paris to London this morning, with two passengers, in a new Parrott biplane?"

"That is so.... Well?"

"I must be one of those passengers; and I have a companion, a younglady, who will take the place of the other. "

"It isn't possible, monsieur. Those arrangements are already fixed. "

"You will countermand them. "

"There is no time--"

"You can get into telephonic communication with Port Aviation in twominutes. "

"But the passengers have been promised--"

"You will disappoint them. "

"The start is to be made in the first flush of daylight. How could youreach Port Aviation in time?"

"In your motor-car, monsieur. "

"It cannot be done. "

"It must! If the start must be delayed till we arrive, you will giveorders that it shall be so delayed. "

For a minute the Minister of War hesitated; then he shook his headdefinitely. 

"The difficulties are insuperable--"

"There is no such thing, monsieur. "

"I am sorry: it can't be done. "

"That is your answer?"

"It is regrettable, monsieur... "

"Very well!" Lanyard bent forward again, took a match from the stand onthe bedside table, and struck it. Very calmly he advanced the flametoward the cigarette containing the roll of inflammable films. 

"Monsieur!" Ducroy cried in horror. "What are you doing?"

Lanyard favoured him with a look of surprise. 

"I am about to destroy these films and prints. "

"You must never do that!"

"Why not? They are mine, to do with as I like. If I cannot dispose ofthem at my price, I shall destroy them!"

"But--my God!--what you demand is impossible! Stay, monsieur! Thinkwhat your action means to France!"

"I have already thought of that. Now I must think of myself. "

"But--one moment!"

Ducroy sat up in bed and dangled hairy fat legs over the side. 

"But one moment only, monsieur. Don't make me waste your matches!"

"Monsieur, it shall be as you desire, if it lies in my power toaccomplish it. "

With this the Minister of War stood up and made for the telephone, inhis agitation forgetful of dressing-gown and slippers. 

"You must accomplish it, Monsieur Ducroy, " Lanyard advised him gravely, puffing out the flame; "for if you fail, you make yourself theinstrument of my death. Here are the plans. "

"You trust them to me?" Ducroy asked in astonishment. 

"But naturally: that makes it an affair of your honour, " Lanyardexplained suavely. 

With a gesture of graceful capitulation the Frenchman accepted thelittle roll of film. 

"Permit me, " he said, "to acknowledge the honour of monsieur'sconfidence!"

Lanyard bowed low: "One knows with whom one deals, monsieur!... And now, if you will be good enough to excuse me.... "

He turned to the door. 

"But--eh--where are you going?" Ducroy demanded. 

"Mademoiselle, " Lanyard said, pausing on the threshold--"that is, theyoung lady who is to accompany me--is waiting anxiously in the garden, out yonder. I go to find and reassure her and--with your permission--tobring her in to the library, where we will await monsieur when he hasfinished telephoning and--ah--repaired the deficiencies in his attire;which one trusts he will forgive one's mentioning!"

He bowed again, impudently, gaily, and--when the Minister of War lookedup again sheepishly from contemplation of his naked shanks--hadvanished. 

In high feather Lanyard made his way to a door at the rear of the housewhich gave upon the garden--in his new social status of Governmentalprotégé disdaining any such a commonplace avenue as that conservatorywindow whose fastenings he had forced on entering. And boldly unboltingthe door, he ran out into the night, to rejoin his beloved, like a manwaking to new life. 

But she was no more there: the bench was vacant, the garden deserted, the gateway yawning on the street. 

With a low, stifled cry, Lanyard turned from the bench and stumbled outto the junction of the cross-street. But nowhere in their severalperspectives could he see anything that moved. 

After some time he returned to the garden and quartered it with thethoroughness of a pointer beating a covert. But he did this hopelessly, bitterly aware that the outcome would be precisely what it eventuallywas, that is to say, nothing.... 

He was kneeling beside the bench--scrutinizing the turf withmicroscopic attention by aid of his flash-lamp, seeking some sign ofstruggle to prove she had not left him willingly, and findingnone--when a voice brought him momentarily out of his distraction. 

He looked up wildly, to discover Ducroy standing over him, his stoutperson chastely swathed in a quilted dressing-gown and trousers, hisexpression one of stupefaction. 

"Well, monsieur--well?" the Minister of War demanded irritably. "What--Irepeat--what are you doing there?"

Lanyard essayed response, choked up, and gulped. He rose and stoodswaying, showing a stricken face. 

"Eh?" Ducroy insisted with an accent of exasperation. "Why do you standglaring at me like that--eh? Come, monsieur: what ails you? I havearranged everything, I say. Where is mademoiselle?"

Lanyard made a broken gesture. 

"Gone!" he muttered forlornly. 

Instantly the countenance of the stout Frenchman was lightened with agleam of eager interest--inveterate romantic that he was!--and hestepped nearer, peering closely into the face of the adventurer. 

"Gone?" he echoed. "Mademoiselle? Your sweetheart, eh?"

Lanyard assented with a disconsolate nod and sigh. Impatiently Ducroy caught him by the sleeve. 

"Come!" he insisted, tugging--"but come at once into the house. Now, monsieur--now at length you enlist all one's sympathies! Come, I say!Is it your desire that I catch my death of cold?"

Indifferently Lanyard suffered himself to be led away. 

He was, indeed, barely conscious of what was happening. All his beingwas possessed by the thought that she had forsaken him. And he couldwell guess why: impossible for such an one as she to contemplatewithout a shudder association with the man who had been what he hadbeen! Infatuate!--to have dreamed that she would tolerate the devotionof a criminal, that she could ever forget his identity with the LoneWolf. Inevitably--soon or late--she must have fled that ignominiousthought in dread and horror, daring whatever consequences to escapeand forget both it and him. And better now, perhaps, than later.... 

XVIII

ENIGMA

He found no reason to believe she had left him other than voluntarily, or that their adventures since the escape from the impasse Stanislashad been attended upon by spies of the Pack. He could have sworn theyhadn't been followed either to or from the rue des Acacias; their wayhad been too long and purposely too roundabout, his vigilance toolively, for any sort of surveillance to have been practised without hisremarking some indication thereof, at one time or another. 

On the other hand (he told himself) there was every reason to believeshe hadn't left him to go back to Bannon; concerning whom she hadexpressed herself too forcibly to excuse a surmise that she hadpreferred his protection to the Lone Wolf's. 

Reasoning thus, he admitted, one couldn't blame her. He could readilysee how, illuded at first by a certain romantic glamour, she had not, until left to herself in the garden, come to clear perception of thefact that she was casting her lot with a common criminal's. Then, horror overmastering her of a sudden she had fled--wildly, blindly, hedidn't doubt. But whither? He looked in vain for her at their agreedrendezvous, the Sacré Coeur. She had neither money nor friends inParis. 

True: she had mentioned some personal jewellery she planned tohypothecate. Her first move, then, would be to seek the mont-de-piété--not to force himself again upon her, but to follow at a distance andward off interference on Bannon's part. 

The Government pawn-shop had its invitation for Lanyard himself: he wasthere before the doors were open for the day; and fortified by loansnegotiated on his watch, cigarette-case, and a ring or two, retired toa café commanding a view of the entrance on the rue desBlancs-Manteaux, and settled himself against a day-long vigil. 

It wasn't easy; drowsiness buzzed in his brain and weighted his eyelids;now and again, involuntarily, he nodded over his glass of black coffee. And when evening came and the mont-de-piété closed for the night, herose and stumbled off, wondering if possibly he had napped a littlewithout his knowledge and so missed her visit. 

Engaging obscure lodgings close by the rue des Acacias, he slept tillnearly noon of the following day, then rose to put into execution adesign which had sprung full-winged from his brain at the instant ofwakening. 

He had not only his car but a chauffeur's license of long standing inthe name of Pierre Lamier--was free, in short, to range at will thestreets of Paris. And when he had levied on the stock of a second-handclothing shop and a chemist's, he felt tolerably satisfied it wouldneed sharp eyes--whether the Pack's or the Préfecture's--to identify"Pierre Lamier" with either Michael Lanyard or the Lone Wolf. 

His face, ears and neck he stained a weather-beaten brown, a discreetapplication of rouge along his cheekbones enhancing the effect of dailyexposure to the winter winds and rains of Paris; and he gave his handsan even darker shade, with the added verisimilitude of finger-nailsinked into permanent mourning. Also, he refrained from shaving: astubble of two days' neglect bristled upon his chin and jowls. Arusty brown ulster with cap to match, shoddy trousers boastingconspicuous stripes of leaden colour, and patched boots completed thedisguise. 

Monsieur and madame of the conciergerie he deceived with a yarn ofselling his all to purchase the motor-car and embark in business forhimself; and with their blessing, sallied forth to scout Parisdiligently for sight or sign of the woman to whom his every heart-beatwas dedicated. 

By the close of the third day he was ready to concede that she hadmanaged to escape without his aid. 

And he began to suspect that Bannon had fled the town as well; for themost diligent enquiries failed to educe the least clue to the movementsof the American following the fire at Troyon's. 

As for Troyon's, it was now nothing more than a gaping excavationchoked with ashes and charred timbers; and though still rumours ofpolice interest in the origin of the fire persisted, nothing in thepapers linked the name of Michael Lanyard with their activities. Hisdisappearance and Lucy Shannon's seemed to be accepted as due todeath in the holocaust; the fact that their bodies hadn'tbeen recovered was no longer a matter for comment. 

In short, Paris had already lost interest in the affair. 

Even so, it seemed, had the Pack lost interest in the Lone Wolf; orelse his disguise was impenetrable. Twice he saw De Morbihan "flânning"elegantly on the Boulevards, and once he passed close by Popinot; butneither noticed him. 

Toward midnight of the third day, Lanyard, driving slowly westward onthe boulevard de la Madeleine, noticed a limousine of familiar aspectround a corner half a block ahead and, drawing up in front of Viel's, discharge four passengers. 

The first was Wertheimer; and at sight of his rather striking figure, decked out in evening apparel from Conduit street and Bond, Lanyardslackened speed. 

Turning as he alighted, the Englishman offered his hand to a youngwoman. She jumped down to the sidewalk in radiant attire and a laughingtemper. 

Involuntarily Lanyard stopped his car; and one immediately to the rear, swerving out to escape collision, shot past, its driver cursing himfreely; while a sergent de ville scowled darkly and uttered animperative word. 

He pulled himself together, somehow, and drove on. 

The girl was entering the restaurant by way of the revolving door, Wertheimer in attendance; while De Morbihan, having alighted, waslending a solicitous arm to Bannon. 

Quite automatically the adventurer drove on, rounded the Madeleine, andturned up the boulevard Malesherbes. Paris and all its brisk midnighttraffic swung by without claiming a tithe of his interest: he wasmainly conscious of lights that reeled dizzily round him like amultitude of malicious, mocking eyes.... 

At the junction with the boulevard Haussmann a second sergent de villeroused him with a warning about careless driving. He went more sanelythereafter, but bore a heart of utter misery; his eyes still wore adazed expression, and now and again he shook his head impatiently asthough to rid it of a swarm of tormenting thoughts. 

So, it seemed, he had all along been her dupe; all the while that hehad been ostentatiously shielding her from harm and diffidentlydiscovering every evidence of devotion, she had been laughing in hersleeve and planning to return to the service she pretended to despise, with her report of a fool self-duped. 

A great anger welled in his bosom. 

Turning round, he made back to the boulevard de la Madeleine, and onone pretext and another contrived to haunt the neighbourhood of Viel'suntil the party reappeared, something after one o'clock. 

It was plain that they had supped merrily; the girl seemed in thegayest humour, Wertheimer a bit exhilarated, De Morbihan much amused;even Bannon--bearing heavily on the Frenchman's arm--was chucklingcontentedly. The party piled back into De Morbihan's limousine and wasdriven up the avenue des Champs Élysées, pausing at the Élysée PalaceHotel to drop Bannon and the girl--his daughter?--whoever she was!

Whither it went thereafter, Lanyard didn't trouble to ascertain. Hedrove morosely home and went to bed, though not to sleep for many hours:bitterness of disillusion ate like an acid in his heart. 

But for all his anguish, he continued in an uncertain temper. He hadturned his back on the craft of which he was acknowledged master--for awoman's sake; for nothing else (he argued) had he dedicated himself topoverty and honest effort; and what little privation he had alreadyendured was hopelessly distasteful to him. The art of the Lone Wolf, his consummate cunning and subtlety, was still at his command; with onlyhimself to think of, he was profoundly contemptuous of the antagonism ofthe Pack; while none knew better than he with what ease the riches ofcareless Paris might be diverted to his own pockets. A single step asidefrom the path he had chosen--and tomorrow night he might dine at theRitz instead of in some sordid cochers' cabaret!

And since no one cared--since _she_ had betrayed his faith--whatmattered?

Why not... ?

Yet he could not come to a decision; the next day saw him obstinately, even a little stupidly, pursuing the course he had planned before hisdisheartening disillusionment. 

Because his money was fast ebbing and motives of prudence alone--ifnone more worthy--forbade an attempt to replenish his pocketbook byrevisiting the little rez-de-chaussée in the rue Roget and realizing onits treasures, he had determined to have a taximeter fitted to his carand ply for hire until time or chance should settle the question of hisfuture. 

Already, indeed, he had complied with the police regulations, andreceived permission to convert his voiture de remise into a taxicab;and leaving it before noon at the designated dépôt, he was told itwould be ready for him at four with the "clock" installed. Returning atthat hour, he learned that it couldn't be ready before six; and toobored and restless to while away two idle hours in a café, he wanderedlistlessly through the streets and boulevards--indifferent, in theblack melancholy oppressing him, whether or not he were recognized--andeventually found himself turning from the rue St. Honoré through theplace Vendôme to the rue de la Paix. 

This was not wise, a perilous business, a course he had no right topursue. And Lanyard knew it. None the less, he persisted. 

It was past five o'clock--deep twilight beneath a cloudless sky--thelife of that street of streets fluent at its swiftest. All that Parisknew of wealth and beauty, fashion and high estate, moved between thecurbs. One needed the temper of a Stoic to maintain indifference to theallure of its pageant. 

Trudging steadily, he of the rusty brown ulster all but touchedshoulders with men who were all that he had been but a few days since--hale, hearty, well-fed, well-dressed symbols of prosperity--and withexquisite women, exquisitely gowned, extravagantly be-furred andbe-jewelled, of glowing faces and eyes dark with mystery and promise:spirited creatures whose laughter was soft music, whose gesture waspride and arrogance. 

One and all looked past, over, and through him, unaffectedly unawarethat he existed. 

The roadway, its paving worn as smooth as glass, and tonight by graceof frost no less hard, rang with a clatter of hoofs high and clearabove the resonance of motors. A myriad lights filled the wide channelwith diffused radiance. Two endless ranks of shop-windows, facing oneanother--across the tide, flaunted treasures that kings mightpardonably have coveted--and would. 

Before one corner window, Lanyard paused instinctively. 

The shop was that of a famous jeweller. Separated from him by only thethickness of plate-glass was the wealth of princes. Looking beyond thatdisplay, his attention focussed on the interior of an immense safe, towhich a dapper French salesman was restoring velvet-lined trays ofvaluables. Lanyard studied the intricate, ponderous mechanism of thesafe-door with a thoughtful gaze not altogether innocent of sardonicbias. It wore all the grim appearance of a strong-box that, once locked, would prove impregnable to everything save acquaintance with thecombination and the consent of the time-lock. But give the Lone Wolftwenty minutes alone with it, twenty minutes free from interruption--he, the one man living who could seduce a time-lock and leave it apparentlyinviolate!... 

To one side of that window stood a mirror, set at an angle, andsuddenly Lanyard caught its presentment of himself--a gaunt and hungryapparition, with a wolfish air he had never worn when rejoicing in hissobriquet, staring with eyes of predaceous lustre. 

Alarmed and fearing lest some passer-by be struck by this betrayal, heturned and moved on hastily. 

But his mind was poisoned by this brutal revelation of the wide, deepgulf that yawned between the Lone Wolf of yesterday and Pierre Lamierof today; between Michael Lanyard the debonnaire, the amateur of finearts and fine clothing, the beau sabreur of gentlemen-cracksmen andthat lean, worn, shabby and dispirited animal who had glared back athim from the jeweller's mirror. 

He quickened his pace, with something of that same instinct ofself-preservation that bids the dipsomaniac avert his eyes and hurrypast the corner gin-mill, and turned blindly off into the rue Danou, toward the avenue de l'Opéra. 

But this only made it worse for him, for he could not avoid recognitionof the softly glowing windows of the Café de Paris that knew him sowell, or forget the memory of its shining rich linen, its silver andcrystal, its perfumed atmosphere and luxury of warmth and music andshaded lights, its cuisine that even Paris cannot duplicate. 

And the truth came home to him, that he was hungry not with that bruteappetite he had money enough in his pocket to satisfy, but with thelust of flesh-pots, for rare viands and old vintage wines, to know oncemore the snug embrace of a dress-coat and to breathe again theatmosphere of ease and station. 

In sudden panic he darted across the avenue and hurried north, determined to tantalize himself no longer with sights and sounds soprovocative and so disturbing. 

Half-way across the boulevard des Capucines, to the east of the Opéra, he leapt for his life from a man-killing taxi, found himselftemporarily marooned upon one of those isles of safety which Paris haschristened "thank-Gods, " and stood waiting for an opening in thecongestion of traffic to permit passage to the farther sidewalk. 

And presently the policeman in the middle of the boulevard signalledwith his little white wand; the stream of east-bound vehicles checkedand began to close up to the right of the crossing, upon which theyencroached jealously; and a taxi on the outside, next the island, overshot the mark, pulled up sharply, and began to back into place. Before Lanyard could stir, its window was opposite him, and he waslooking in, transfixed. 

There was sufficient light to enable him to see clearly the face of thepassenger--its pale oval and the darkness of eyes whose gaze clung tohis with an effect of confused fascination.... 

She sat quite motionless until one white-gloved hand moved uncertainlytoward her bosom. 

That brought him to; unconsciously lifting his cap, he stepped back apace and started to move on. 

At this, she bent quickly forward and unlatched the door. It swung wideto him. 

Hardly knowing what he was doing, he accepted the dumb invitation, stepped in, took the empty seat, and closed the door. 

Almost at once the car moved on with a jerk, the girl sinking back intoher corner with a suggestion of breathlessness, as though her effort toseem composed had been almost too much for her strength. 

Her face, turned toward Lanyard, seemed wan in the half light, butimmobile, expressionless; only her eyes were darkly quick withanticipation. 

On his part, Lanyard felt himself hopelessly confounded, in the graspof emotions that would scarce suffer him to speak. A great wonderobsessed him that she should have opened that door to him no less thanthat he should have entered through it. Dimly he understood that eachhad acted without premeditation; and asked himself, was she alreadyregretting that momentary weakness. 

"Why did you do that?" he heard himself demand abruptly, his voiceharsh, strained, and unnatural. 

She stiffened slightly, with a nervous movement of her shoulders. 

"Because I saw you... I was surprised; I had hoped--believed--you hadleft Paris. "

"Without you? Hardly!"

"But you must, " she insisted--"you _must_ go, as quickly as possible. It isn't safe--"

"I'm all right, " he insisted--"able-bodied--in full possession of mysenses!"

"But any moment you may be recognized--"

"In this rig? It isn't likely.... Not that I care. "

She surveyed his costume curiously, perplexed. 

"Why are you dressed that way? Is it a disguise?"

"A pretty good one. But in point of fact, it's the national livery ofmy present station in life. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"Simply that, out of my old job, I've turned to the first resort of theincompetent: I'm driving a taxi. "

"Isn't it awfully--risky?"

"You'd think so; but it isn't. Few people ever bother to look at achauffeur. When they hail a taxi they're in a hurry, as a rule--preoccupied with business or pleasure. And then our uniforms are adisguise in themselves: to the public eye we look like so manyChinamen!"

"But you're mistaken: I knew you instantly, didn't I? And thoseothers--they're as keen-witted as I--certainly. Oh, you shouldnot have stopped on in Paris!"

"I couldn't go without knowing what had become of you. "

"I was afraid of that, " she confessed. 

"Then why--?"

"Oh, I know what you're going to say! Why did I run away from you?"And then, since he said nothing, she continued unhappily: "I can'ttell you... I mean, I don't know how to tell you!"

She kept her face averted, sat gazing blankly out of the window; butwhen he sat on, mute and unresponsive--in point of fact not knowingwhat to say--she turned to look at him, and the glare of a passing lampshowed her countenance profoundly distressed, mouth tense, browsknotted, eyes clouded with perplexity and appeal. 

And of a sudden, seeing her so tormented and so piteous, hisindignation ebbed, and with it all his doubts of her were dissipated;dimly he divined that something behind this dark fabric of mystery andinconsistency, no matter how inexplicable to him, excused all herapparent faithlessness and instability of character and purpose. Hecould not look upon this girl and hear her voice and believe that shewas not at heart as sound and sweet, tender and loyal, as any that everbreathed. 

A wave of tenderness and compassion brimmed his heart; he realized thathe didn't matter, that his amour propre was of no account--that nothingmattered so long as she were spared one little pang of self-reproach. 

He said, gently: "I wouldn't have you distress yourself on my account, Miss Shannon... I quite understand there must be things I _can't_understand--that you must have had your reasons for acting as you did. "

"Yes, " she said unevenly, but again with eyes averted--"I had; butthey're not easy, they're impossible to explain--to you. "

"Yet--when all's said and done--I've no right to exact any explanation. "

"Ah, but how can you say that, remembering what we've been throughtogether?"

"You owe me nothing, " he insisted; "whereas I owe you everything, evenunquestioning faith. Even though I fail, I have this to thank youfor--this one not-ignoble impulse my life has known. "

"You mustn't say that, you mustn't think it. I don't deserve it. Youwouldn't say it--if you knew--"

"Perhaps I can guess enough to satisfy myself. "

She gave him a swift, sidelong look of challenge, instinctively on thedefensive. 

"Why, " she almost gasped--"what do you think--?"

"Does it matter what I think?"

"It does, to me: I wish to know!"

"Well, " he conceded reluctantly, "I think that, when you had a chanceto consider things calmly, waiting back there in the garden, you madeup your mind it would be better to--to use your best judgmentand--extricate yourself from an embarrassing position--"

"You think that!" she interrupted bitterly. "You think that, after youhad confided in me; after you'd confessed--when I made you, led you onto it--that you cared for me; after you'd told me how much my faithmeant to you--you think that, after all that, I deliberately abandonedyou because I suddenly realized you had been the Lone Wolf--!"

"I'm sorry if I hurt you. But what can I think?"

"But you are wrong!" she protested vehemently--"quite, quite wrong! Iran away from myself--not from you--and with another motive, too, thatI can't explain. "

"You ran away from yourself--not from me?" he repeated, puzzled. 

"Don't you understand? Why make it so hard for me? Why make me sayoutright what pains me so?"

"Oh, I beg of you--"

"But if you won't understand otherwise--I must tell you, I suppose. "She checked, breathless, flushed, trembling. "You recall our talk afterdinner, that night--how I asked what if you found out you'd beenmistaken in me, that I had deceived you; and how I told you it would beimpossible for me ever to marry you?"

"I remember. "

"It was because of that, " she said--"I ran away; because I hadn't beentalking idly; because you _were_ mistaken in me, because I _was_deceiving you, because I could never marry you, and because--suddenly--I came to know that, if I didn't go then and there, I might never findthe strength to leave you, and only suffering and unhappiness couldcome of it all. I had to go, as much for your sake as for my own. "

"You mean me to understand, you found you were beginning to--to care alittle for me?"

She made an effort to speak, but in the end answered only with a dumbinclination of her head. 

"And ran away because love wasn't possible between us?"

Again she nodded silently. 

"Because I had been a criminal, I presume!"

"You've no right to say that--"

"What else can I think? You tell me you were afraid I might persuadeyou to become my wife--something which, for some inexplicable reason, you claim is impossible. What other explanation can I infer? Whatother explanation is needed? It's ample, it covers everything, andI've no warrant to complain--God knows!"

She tried to protest, but he cut her short. 

"There's one thing I don't understand at all! If that is so, if yourrepugnance for criminal associations made you run away from me--whydid you go back to Bannon?"

She started and gave him a furtive, frightened glance. 

"You knew that?"

"I saw you--last night--followed you from Viel's to your hotel. "

"And you thought, " she flashed in a vibrant voice--"you thought I wasin his company of my own choice!"

"You didn't seem altogether downcast, " he countered, "Do you wish me tounderstand you were with him against your will?"

"No, " she said slowly.... "No: I returned to him voluntarily, knowingperfectly what I was about. "

"Through fear of him--?"

"No. I can't claim that. "

"Rather than me--?"

"You'll never understand, " she told him a little wearily--"never. Itwas a matter of duty. I had to go back--I had to!"

Her voice trailed off into a broken little sob. But as, moved beyondhis strength to resist, Lanyard put forth a hand to take thewhite-gloved one resting on the cushion beside her, she withdrew itwith a swift gesture of denial. 

"No!" she cried. "Please! You mustn't do that... You only make itharder... "

"But you love me!"

"I can't. It's impossible. I would--but I may not!"

"Why?"

"I can't tell you. "

"If you love me, you must tell me. "

She was silent, the white hands working nervously with herhandkerchief. 

"Lucy!" he insisted--"you must say what stands between you and my love. It's true, I've no right to ask, as I had no right to speak to you oflove. But when we've said as much as we have said--we can't stop there. You will tell me, dear?"

She shook her head: "It--it's impossible. "

"But you can't ask me to be content with that answer!"

"Oh!" she cried--"_how_ can I make you understand?... When you saidwhat you did, that night--it seemed as if a new day were dawning in mylife. You made me believe it was because of me. You put me aboveyou--where I'd no right to be; but the fact that you thought me worthyto be there, made me proud and happy: and for a little, in my blindness, I believed I could be worthy of your love and your respect. I thoughtthat, if I could be as strong as you during that year you asked inwhich to prove your strength, I might listen to you, tell youeverything, and be forgiven.... But I was wrong, how wrong I soonlearned.... So I had to leave you at whatever cost!"

She ceased to speak, and for several minutes there was silence. But forher quick, convulsive breathing, the girl sat like a woman of stone, staring dry-eyed out of the window. And Lanyard sat as moveless, theheart in his bosom as heavy and cold as a stone. 

At length, lifting his head, "You leave me no alternative, " he said in avoice dull and hollow even in his own hearing: "I can only think onething... "

"Think what you must, " she said lifelessly: "it doesn't matter, so longas you renounce me, put me out of your heart and--leave me. "

Without other response, he leaned forward and tapped the glass; and asthe cab swung in toward the curb, he laid hold of the door-latch. 

"Lucy, " he pleaded, "don't let me go believing--"

She seemed suddenly infused with implacable hostility. "I tell you, "she said cruelly--"I don't care what you think, so long as you go!"

The face she now showed him was ashen; its mouth was hard; her eyesshone feverishly. 

And then, as still he hesitated, the cab pulled up and the driver, leaning back, unlatched the door and threw it open. With a curt, resigned nod, Lanyard rose and got out. 

Immediately the girl bent forward and grasped the speaking-tube; thedoor slammed; the cab drew away and left him standing with the pose, with the gesture of one who has just heard his sentence of deathpronounced. 

When he roused to know his surroundings, he found himself standing on acorner of the avenue du Bois. 

It was bitter cold in the wind sweeping down from the west, and it hadgrown very dark. Only in the sky above the Bois a long reef of crimsonlight hung motionless, against which leafless trees lifted gnarled, weird silhouettes. 

While he watched, the pushing crimson ebbed swiftly and gave way tomauve, to violet, to black. 

XIX

UNMASKED

When there was no more light in the sky, a profound sigh escapedLanyard's lips; and with the gesture of one signifying submission to anomen, he turned and tramped heavily back across-town. 

More automaton than sentient being, he plodded on along the secondenceinte of flaring, noisy boulevards, now and again narrowly escapingannihilation beneath the wheels of some coursing motor-cab or ponderous, grinding omnibus. 

Barely conscious of such escapes, he was altogether indifferent to them:it would have required a mortal hurt to match the dumb, sick anguish ofhis soul; more than merely a sunset sky had turned black for him withinthat hour. 

The cold was now intense, and he none too warmly clothed; yet there wassweat upon his brows. 

Dully there recurred to him a figure he had employed in one of his talkswith Lucy Shannon: that, lacking his faith in her, there would be onlyemptiness beneath his feet. 

And now that faith was wanting in him, had been taken from him for allhis struggles to retain it; and now indeed he danced on emptiness, therope of temptation tightening round his neck, the weight of criminalinstincts pulling it taut--strangling every right aspiration in him, robbing him of the very breath of that new life to which he had thoughtto give himself. 

If she were not worthy, of what worth the fight?... 

At one stage of his journey, he turned aside and, more through habitthan desire or design, entered a cheap eating-place and consumed hiscustomary evening meal without the slightest comprehension of what heate or whether the food were good or poor. 

When he had finished, he hurried away like a haunted man. There waslittle room in his mood for sustained thought: his wits were fathominga bottomless pit of black despair. He felt like a man born blind, through skilful surgery given the boon of sight for a day or two, andsuddenly and without any warning thrust back again into darkness. 

He knew only that his brief struggle had been all wasted, that behindthe flimsy barrier of his honourable ambition, the Lone Wolf wasravening. And he felt that, once he permitted that barrier to be brokendown, it could never be repaired. 

He had set it up by main strength of will, for love of a woman. He mustmaintain it now for no incentive other than to retain his own goodwill--or resign himself utterly to that darkness out of which he hadfought his way, to its powers that now beset his soul. 

And ... He didn't care. 

Quite without purpose he sought the machine-shop where he had left hiscar. 

He had no plans; but it was in his mind, a murderous thought, thatbefore another dawn he might encounter Bannon. 

Interim, he would go to work. He could think out his problem whiledriving as readily as in seclusion; whatever he might ultimately electto do, he could accomplish little before midnight. 

Toward seven o'clock, with his machine in perfect running order, hetook the seat and to the streets in a reckless humour, in the temper of a beast of prey. 

The barrier was down: once more the Lone Wolf was on the prowl. 

But for the present he controlled himself and acted perfectly histemporary rôle of taxi-bandit, fellow to those thousands who infestParis. Half a dozen times in the course of the next three hours peoplehailed him from sidewalks and restaurants; he took them up, carriedthem to their several destinations, received payment, and acknowledgedtheir gratuities with perfunctory thanks--thoroughly in character--butall with little conscious thought. 

He saw but one thing, the face of Lucy Shannon, white, tense, glimmering wanly in shadow--the countenance with which she haddismissed him. 

He had but one thought, the wish to read the riddle of her bondage. Toaccomplish this he was prepared to go to any extreme; if Bannon and hiscrew came between him and his purpose, so much the worse for them--and, incidentally, so much the better for society. What might befall himselfwas of no moment. 

He entertained but one design, to become again what he had been, thesupreme adventurer, the prince of plunderers, to lose himself once morein the delirium of adventurous days and peril-haunted nights, toreincarnate the Lone Wolf and in his guise loot the world anew, tocourt forgetfulness even at the prison's gates.... 

It was after ten when, cruising purposelessly, without a fare, he swungthrough the rue Auber into the place de l'Opéra and, approaching theCafé de la Paix, was hailed by a door-boy of that restaurant. 

Drawing in to the curb with the careless address that had distinguishedhis every action of that evening, he waited, with a throbbing motor, and with mind detached and gaze remote from the streams of foot andwheeled traffic that brawled past on either hand. 

After a moment two men issued from the revolving door of the café, andapproached the cab. Lanyard paid them no attention. His thoughts werenow engaged with a certain hôtel particulier in the neighbourhood ofLa Muette and, in his preoccupation, he would need only the name of adestination and the sound of the cab-door slammed, to send him off likea shot. 

Then he heard one of the men cough heavily, and in a twinklingstiffened to rigidity in his seat. If he had heard that cough but oncebefore, that once had been too often. Without a glance aside, hardening his features to perfect immobility, he knew that the coughwas shaking the slighter of those two figures. 

And of a sudden he was acutely conscious of the clearness of thefrosty atmosphere, of the merciless glare of electricity beating uponhim from every side from the numberless street lamps and café lights. And poignantly he regretted neglecting to mask himself with hisgoggles. 

He wasn't left long in suspense. The coughing died away by spasms;followed the unmistakable, sonorous accents of Bannon. 

"Well, my dear boy! I have to thank you for an excellent dinner and amost interesting evening. Pity to break it up so early. Still, lesaffaires--you know! Sorry you're not going my way--but that's ahandsome taxi you've drawn. What's its number--eh?"

"Haven't the faintest notion, " a British voice drawled in response. "Never fret about a taxi's number until it has run over me. "

"Great mistake, " Bannon rejoined cheerfully. "Always take the numberbefore entering. Then, if anything happens ... However, that's agood-looking chap at the wheel--doesn't look as if he'd run you intoany trouble. "

"Oh, I fancy not, " said the Englishman, bored. 

"Well, you never can tell. The number's on the lamp. Make a note of itand be on the safe side. Or trust me--I never forget numbers. "

With this speech Bannon ranged alongside Lanyard and looked him over, keenly malicious enjoyment gleaming in his evil old eyes. 

"You are an honest-looking chap, " he observed with a mocking smile butin a tone of the most inoffensive admiration--"honest and--ah--whatshall I say?--what's the word we're all using now-a-days?--efficient!Honest and efficient-looking, capable of better things, or I'm nojudge! Forgive an old man's candour, my friend--and take good care ofour British cousin here. He doesn't know his way around Paris verywell. Still, I feel confident he'll come to no harm in _your_ company. Here's a franc for you. " With matchless effrontery, he produced acoin from the pocket of his fur-lined coat. 

Unhesitatingly, permitting no expression to colour his features, Lanyard extended his palm, received the money, dropped it into hisown pocket, and carried two fingers to the visor of his cap. 

"Merci, monsieur, " he said evenly. 

"Ah, that's the right spirit!" the deep voice jeered. "Never be aboveyour station, my man--never hesitate to take a tip! Here, I'll giveyou another, gratis: get out of this business: you're too good forit. Don't ask me how I know; I can tell by your face--Hello! Why doyou turn down the flag? You haven't started yet!"

"Conversation goes up on the clock, " Lanyard replied stolidly inFrench. He turned and faced Bannon squarely, loosing a glance ofvenomous hatred into the other's eyes. "The longer I have to stophere listening to your senile monologue, the more you'll have to pay. What address, please?" he added, turning back to get a glimpse of hispassenger. 

"Hotel Astoria, " the porter supplied. 

"Very good. "

The porter closed the door. 

"But remember my advice, " Bannon counselled coolly, stepping back andwaving his hand to the man in the cab. "Good night. "

Lanyard took his car smartly away from the curb, wheeled round thecorner into the boulevard des Capucines, and toward the rue Royale. 

He had gone but a block when the window at his back was lowered and hisfare observed pleasantly:

"That you, Lanyard?"

The adventurer hesitated an instant; then, without looking round, responded:

"Wertheimer, eh?"

"Right-O! The old man had me puzzled for a minute with his sillychaffing. Stupid of me, too, because we'd just been talking about you. "

"Had you, though!"

"Rather. Hadn't you better take me where we can have a quiet littletalk?"

"I'm not conscious of the necessity--"

"Oh, I say!" Wertheimer protested amiably--"don't be shirty, old top. Give a chap a chance. Besides, I have a bit of news from Antwerp that Iguarantee will interest you. "

"Antwerp?" Lanyard iterated, mystified. 

"Antwerp, where the ships sail from, " Wertheimer laughed: "notAmsterdam, where the diamonds flock together, as you may know. "

"I don't follow you, I'm afraid. "

"I shan't elucidate until we're under cover. "

"All right. Where shall I take you?"

"Any quiet café will do. You must know one--"

"Thanks--no, " said Lanyard dryly. "If I must confabulate with gentlemenof your kidney, I prefer to keep it dark. Even dressed as I am, I mightbe recognized, you know. "

But it was evident that Wertheimer didn't mean to permit himself to beruffled. 

"Then will my modest diggings do?" he suggested pleasantly. "I've takena suite in the rue Vernet, just back of the Hôtel Astoria, where we canbe as private as you please, if you've no objection. "

"None whatever. "

Wertheimer gave him the number and replaced the window.... 

His rooms in the rue Vernet proved to be a small ground-floor apartmentwith private entrance to the street. 

"Took the tip from you, " he told Lanyard as he unlocked the door. "Idaresay you'd be glad to get back to that rez-de-chaussée of yours. Ripping place, that.... By the way--judging from your apparently robuststate of health, you haven't been trying to live at home of late. "

"Indeed?"

"Indeed yes, monsieur! If I may presume to advise--I'd pull wide of therue Roget for a while--for as long, at least, as you remain in yourpresent intractable temper. "

"Daresay you're right, " Lanyard assented carelessly, following, asWertheimer turned up the lights, into a modest salon cosily furnished. "You live here alone, I understand?"

"Quite: make yourself perfectly at ease; nobody can hear us. And, " theEnglishman added with a laugh, "do forget your pistol, Mr. Lanyard. I'mnot Popinot, nor is this Troyon's. "

"Still, " Lanyard countered, "you've just been dining with Bannon. "

Wertheimer laughed easily. "Had me there!" he admitted, unabashed. "Itake it you know a bit more about the Old Man than you did a week ago?"

"Perhaps. "

"But sit down: take that chair there, which commands both doors, if youdon't trust me. "

"Do you think I ought to?"

"Hardly. Otherwise I'd ask you to take my word that you're safe for thetime being. As it is, I shan't be offended if you keep your gun handyand your sense of self-preservation running under forced draught. Butyou won't refuse to join me in a whiskey and soda?"

"No, " said Lanyard slowly--"not if you drink from the same bottle. "

Again the Englishman laughed unaffectedly as he fetched a decanter, glasses, bottled soda, and a box of cigarettes, and placed them withinLanyard's reach. 

The adventurer eyed him narrowly, puzzled. He knew nothing of this man, beyond his reputation--something unsavoury enough, in all conscience!--had seen him only once, and then from a distance, before thatconference in the rue Chaptal. And now he was becoming sensitive to apersonality uncommonly insinuating: Wertheimer was displaying all thepoise of an Englishman of the better caste More than anybody in theunderworld that Lanyard had ever known this blackmailer had an air ofone acquainted with his own respect. And his nonchalance, the goodnature with which he accepted Lanyard's pardonable distrust, his genialassumption of fellowship and a common footing, attracted even as itintrigued. 

With the easy courtesy of a practised host, he measured whiskey intoLanyard's glass till checked by a "Thank you, " then helped himselfgenerously, and opened the soda. 

"I'll not ask you to drink with me, " he said with a twinkle, "but--chin-chin!"--and tilting his glass, half-emptied it at a draught. 

Muttering formally, at a disadvantage and resenting it, Lanyard drankwith less enthusiasm if without misgivings. 

Wertheimer selected a cigarette and lighted it at leisure. 

"Well, " he laughed through a cloud of smoke--"I think we're fairly onour way to an understanding, considering you told me to go to hell whenlast we met!"

His spirit was irresistible: in spite of himself Lanyard returned thesmile. "I never knew a man to take it with better grace, " he admitted, lighting his own cigarette. 

"Why not! I _liked_ it: you gave us precisely what we asked for. "

"Then, " Lanyard demanded gravely, "if that's your viewpoint, if you'redecent enough to see it that way--what the devil are you doing in thatgalley?"

"Mischief makes strange bed-fellows, you'll admit. And if you thinkthat a fair question--what are you doing here, with me?"

"Same excuse as before--trying to find out what your game is. "

Wertheimer eyed the ceiling with an intimate grin. "My dear fellow!" heprotested--"all _you_ want to know is everything!"

"More or less, " Lanyard admitted gracelessly. "One gathers that youmean to stop this side the Channel for some time. "

"How so?"

"There's a settled, personal atmosphere about this establishment. Itdoesn't look as if half your things were still in trunks. "

"Oh, these digs! Yes, they are comfy. "

"You don't miss London?"

"Rather! But I shall appreciate it all the more when I go back. "

"Then you can go back, if you like?"

"Meaning your impression is, I made it too hot for me?"

Wertheimer interposed with a quizzical glance. "I shan't tell youabout that. But I'm hoping to be able to run home for an occasionalweek-end without vexing Scotland Yard. Why not come with me sometime?"

Lanyard shook his head. 

"Come!" the Englishman rallied him. "Don't put on so much side. I'm notbad company. Why not be sociable, since we're bound to be throwntogether more or less in the way of business. "

"Oh, I think not. "

"But, my dear chap, you can't keep this up. Playing taxi-way man ishardly your shop. And of course you understand you won't be permittedto engage in any more profitable pursuit until you make terms with thepowers that be--or leave Paris. "

"Terms with Bannon, De Morbihan, Popinot and yourself--eh?"

"With the same. "

"Mr. Wertheimer, " Lanyard told him quietly, "none of you will stop meif ever I make up my mind to take the field again. "

"You haven't been thinking of quitting it--what?" Wertheimer demandedinnocently, opening his eyes wide. 

"Perhaps... "

"Ah, now I begin to see a light! So that's the reason you've come downto tooling a taxi. I wondered! But somehow, Mr. Lanyard"--Wertheimer'seyes narrowed thoughtfully--"I can hardly see you content with thatline... Even if this reform notion isn't simple swank!"

"Well, what do you think?"

"I think, " the Englishman laughed--"_I_ think this conference doesn'tget anywhere in particular. Our simple, trusting natures don't seem tofraternize as spontaneously as they might. We may as well cut thesparring and go, down to business--don't you think? But before we do, I'd like your leave to offer one word of friendly advice. "

"And that is--?"

"'Ware Bannon!"

Lanyard nodded. "Thanks, " he said simply. 

"I say that in all sincerity, " Wertheimer declared. "God knows you'renothing to me, but at least you've played the game like a man; and Iwon't see you butchered to make an Apache holiday for want of warning. "

"Bannon's as vindictive as that, you think?"

"Holds you in the most poisonous regard, if you ask me. Perhaps youknow why: I don't. Anyway, it was rotten luck that brought your car tothe door tonight. He named you during dinner, and while apparently hedoesn't know where to look for you, it is plain he's got no use foryou--not, at least, until your attitude towards the organizationchanges. "

"It hasn't. But I'm obliged. "

"Sure you can't see your way to work with us?"

"Absolutely. "

"Mind you, I'll have to report to the Old Man. I've got to tell himyour answer. "

"I don't think I need tell you what to tell him, " said Lanyard witha grin. 

"Still, it's worth thinking over. I know the Old Man's mind well enoughto feel safe in offering you any inducement you can name, in reason, ifyou'll come to us. Ten thousand francs in your pocket before morning, if you like, and freedom to chuck this filthy job of yours--"

"Please stop there!" Lanyard interrupted hotly. "I was beginning tolike you, too... Why persist in reminding me you're intimate with thebrute who had Roddy butchered in his sleep?"

"Poor devil!" Wertheimer said gently. "That was a sickening business, I admit. But who told you--?"

"Never mind. It's true, isn't it?"

"Yes, " the Englishman admitted gravely--"it's true. It lies at Bannon'sdoor, when all's said.... Perhaps you won't believe me, but it's a factI didn't know positively who was responsible till to-night. "

"You don't really expect me to swallow that? You were hand-in-glove--"

"Ah, but on probation only! When they voted Roddy out, I wasn'tconsulted. They kept me in the dark--mostly, I flatter myself, becauseI draw the line at murder. If I had known--this you won't believe, ofcourse--Roddy would be alive to-day. "

"I'd like to believe you, " Lanyard admitted. "But when you ask me tosign articles with that damned assassin--!"

"You can't play our game with clean hands, " Wertheimer retorted. 

Lanyard found no answer to that. 

"If you've said all you wished to, " he suggested, rising, "I can assureyou my answer is final--and go about my business. "

"What's your hurry? Sit down. There's more to say--much more. "

"As for instance--?"

"I had a fancy you might like to put a question or two. "

Lanyard shook his head; it was plain that Wertheimer designed to drawhim out through his interest in Lucy Shannon. 

"I haven't the slightest curiosity concerning your affairs, " heobserved. 

"But you should have; I could tell you a great many interesting thingsthat intimately affect your affairs, if I liked. You must understandthat I shall hold the balance of power here, from now on. "

"Congratulations!" Lanyard laughed derisively. 

"No joke, my dear chap: I've been promoted over the heads of yourfriends, De Morbihan and Popinot, and shall henceforth be--as they sayin America--the whole works. "

"By what warrant?"

"The illustrious Bannon's. I've been appointed his lieutenant--viceGreggs, deposed for bungling. "

"Do you mean to tell me Bannon controls De Morbihan and Popinot?"

The Englishman smiled indulgently. "If you didn't know it, he'scommander-in-chief of our allied forces, presiding genius of theInternational Underworld Unlimited. "

"Bosh!" cried Lanyard contemptuously. "Why talk to me as if I were achild, to be frightened by a bogey-tale like that?"

"Take it or leave it: the fact remains.... I know, if you don't. Iconfess I didn't till to-night; but I've learned some things that have opened my eyes.... You see, we had a table in a quiet corner of theCafé de la Paix, and since the Old Man's sailing for home before longit was time for him to unbosom rather thoroughly to the man he leavesto represent him in London and Paris. I never suspected our powerbefore he began to talk.... "

Lanyard, watching the man closely, would have sworn he had never seenone more sober. He was indescribably perplexed by this ostensiblecandour--mystified and mistrustful. 

"And then there's this to be considered, from your side, " Wertheimerresumed with the most business-like manner: "you can work with uswithout being obliged to deal in any way with the Old Man or DeMorbihan, or Popinot. Bannon will never cross the Atlantic again, andyou can do pretty much as you like, within reason--subject to myapproval, that is. "

"One of us is mad, " Lanyard commented profoundly. 

"One of us is blind to his best interests, " Wertheimer amended withentire good-humour. 

"Perhaps... Let it go at that. I'm not interested--never did care forfairy tales. "

"Don't go yet. There is still much to be said on both sides of theargument. "

"Has there been one?"

"Besides, I promised you news from Antwerp. "

"To be sure, " Lanyard said, and paused, his curiosity at length engaged. 

Wertheimer delved into the breast-pocket of his dress-coat and produceda blue telegraph-form, handing it to the adventurer. 

Of even date, from Antwerp, it read:

"_Underworld--Paris--Greggs arrested today boardingsteamer for America after desperate struggle killed himselfimmediately afterward poison no confession--Q-2. _"

"_Underworld?_" Lanyard queried blankly. 

"Our telegraphic address, of course. 'Q-2' is our chief factor inAntwerp. "

"So they got Greggs!"

"Stupid oaf, " Wertheimer observed; "I've no sympathy for him. The wholeaffair was a blunder, from first to last. "

"But you got Greggs out and burned Troyon's--!"

"Still our friends at the Préfecture weren't satisfied. Something musthave roused their suspicions. "

"You don't know what?"

"There must have been a leak somewhere--"

"If so, it would certainly have led the police to me, after all thepains you were at to saddle me with the crime. There's something morethan simple treachery in this, Mr. Wertheimer. "

"Perhaps you're right, " said the other thoughtfully. 

"And it doesn't speak well for the discipline of your preciousorganization--granting, for the sake of the argument, the possibilityof such nonsense. "

"Well, well, have your own way about that. I don't insist, so long asyou agree to join forces with me. "

"Oh, it's with you alone, now--is it? Not with that insane fiction, the International Underworld Unlimited?"

"With me alone. I offer you a clear field. Go where you like, do whatyou will--I wouldn't have the cheek to attempt to guide or influenceyou. "

Lanyard kept himself in hand with considerable difficulty. 

"But you?" he asked. "Where do you come in?"

Wertheimer lounged back in his chair and laughed quietly. "Need youask? Must I recall to you the foundations of my prosperity? You had thename of it glib enough on your tongue the other night in the rueChaptal.... When you've done your work, you'll come to me and split theproceeds fairly--and as long as you do that, never a word will pass mylips!"

"Blackmail... !"

"Oh, if you insist! Odd, how I dislike that word!"

Abruptly the adventurer got to his feet. "By God!" he cried, "I'dbetter get out of this before I do you an injury!"

The door slammed behind him on a room ringing with Wertheimer'sunaffected laughter. 

XX

WAR

But why?--he asked himself as he swung his cab aimlessly away--why thatblind rage with which he had welcomed Wertheimer's overtures?

Unquestionably the business of blackmailing was despicable enough; andas a master cracksman, of the highest caste of the criminal world, theLone Wolf had warrantably treated with scorn and contempt the advancesof a pariah like Wertheimer. But in no such spirit had he comprehendedthe Englishman's meaning, when finally that one came to the point; nocool disdain had coloured his attitude, but in the beginning hotindignation, in the end insensate rage.... 

He puzzled himself. That fit of passion had all the aspect of apsychical inconsistency impossible to reconcile with reason. 

He recalled in perplexity how, toward the last, the face of theEnglishman had swum in haze before his eyes; with what disfavour, approaching hatred, he had regarded its fixed, false smirk; with whatloathing he had suffered the intimacy of Wertheimer's tone; how he hadbeen tempted to fly at the man's throat and shake him senseless inreward of his effrontery: emotions that had suited better a man ofunblemished honour and integrity subjected to the insolent addresses ofa contemptible blackguard, emotions that might well have been expectedof the man Lanyard had once dreamed to become. 

But now, since he had resigned that infatuate ambition and turnedapostate to all his vows, his part in character had been to laugh inWertheimer's face and bid him go to the devil ere a worse thing befallhim. Instead of which, he had flown into fury. And as he sat broodingover the wheel, he knew that, were the circumstances to be duplicated, his demeanour would be the same. 

Was it possible he had changed so absolutely in the course of thatshort-lived spasm of reform?

He cried no to that: knowing well what he contemplated, that all hisplans were laid and serious mischance alone could prevent him fromputting them into effect, feeling himself once more quick with thewanton, ruthless spirit of the Lone Wolf, invincibly self-sufficient, strong and cunning. 

When at length he roused from his reverie, it was to discover that hishaphazard course had taken him back toward the heart of Paris; andpresently, weary with futile cruising and being in the neighbourhoodof the Madeleine, he sought the cab-rank there, silenced his motor, and relapsed into morose reflections so profound that nothing objectivehad any place in his consciousness. 

Thus it was that without his knowledge a brace of furtive thugs wereable to slouch down the rank, scrutinizing it covertly but in detail, pause opposite Lanyard's car under pretext of lighting cigarettes, identify him to their satisfaction, and hastily take themselves off. 

Not until they were quite disappeared did the driver of the cab aheaddare warn him. 

Lounging back, this last looked the adventurer over inquisitively. 

"Is it, then, " he enquired civilly, when Lanyard at length lookedround, "that you are in the bad books of the good General Popinot, myfriend?"

"Eh--what's that you say?" Lanyard asked, with a stare of blankmisapprehension. 

The man nodded wisely. "He who is at odds with Popinot, " he observed, sententious, "does well not to sleep in public. You did not see thosetwo who passed just now and took your number--rats of Montmartre, if Iknow my Paris! You were dreaming, my friend, and it is my impressionthat only the presence of those two flies over the way prevented yourimmediate assassination. If I were you, I should go away very quickly, and never stop till I had put stout walls between myself and Popinot. "

A chill of apprehension sent a shiver stealing down Lanyard's spine. 

"You're sure?"

"But of a certainty, my old one!"

"A thousand thanks!"

Jumping down, the adventurer cranked the motor, sprang back to hisseat, and was off like a hunted hare.... 

And when, more than an hour later, he brought his panting car to apause in a quiet and empty back-street of the Auteuil quarter, aftera course that had involved the better part of Paris, it was with theconviction that he had beyond question shaken off pursuit--had therein fact been any attempt to follow him. 

He took advantage of that secluded spot to substitute false numbers forthose he was licensed to display; then at a more sedate pace followedthe line of the fortifications northward as far as La Muette, where, branching off, he sought and made a circuit of two sides of the privatepark enclosing the hôtel of Madame Omber. 

But the mansion showed no lights, and there was nothing in the aspectof the property to lead him to believe that the chatelaine had as yetreturned to Paris. 

Now the night was still young, but Lanyard had his cab to dispose ofand not a few other essential details to arrange before he could takedefinite steps toward the reincarnation of the Lone Wolf. 

Picking a most circumspect route across the river--via the PontMirabeau--to the all-night telegraph bureau in the rue de Grenelle hedespatched a cryptic message to the Minister of War, then with thesame pains to avoid notice made back toward the rue des Acacias. Butit wasn't possible to recross the Seine secretly--in effect, at least--without returning the way he had come--a long detour that irked hisimpatient spirit to contemplate. 

Unwisely he elected to cross by way of the Pont des Invalides--howunwisely was borne in upon him almost as soon as he turned from thebrilliant Quai de la Conférence into the darkling rue FrançoisPremier. He had won scarcely twenty yards from the corner when, witha rush, its motor purring like some great tiger-cat, a powerfultouring-car swept up from behind, drew abreast, but instead of passingchecked speed until its pace was even with his own. 

Struck by the strangeness of this manoeuvre, he looked quickly round, to recognize the moon-like mask of De Morbihan grinning sardonicallyat him over the steering-wheel of the black car. 

A second hasty glance discovered four men in the tonneau. Lacking timeto identify them, Lanyard questioned their character as little as theirmalign intent: Belleville bullies, beyond doubt, drafted from Popinot'sbatallions, with orders to bring in the Lone Wolf, dead or alive. 

He had instant proof that his apprehensions were not exaggerated. Of asudden De Morbihan cut out the muffler and turned loose, full strength, the electric horn. Between the harsh detonations of the exhaust and themad, blatant shrieks of the warning, a hideous clamour echoed andre-echoed in that quiet street--a din in which the report of arevolver-shot was drowned out and went unnoticed. Lanyard himself mighthave been unaware of it, had he not caught out of the corner of his eyea flash that spat out at him like a fiery serpent's tongue, and heardthe crash of the window behind him as it fell inward, shattered. 

That the shot had no immediate successor was due almost wholly toLanyard's instant and instinctive action. 

Even before the clash of broken glass registered on his consciousness, he threw in the high-speed and shot away like a frightened greyhound. 

So sudden was this move that it caught De Morbihan himself unprepared. In an instant Lanyard had ten yards' lead. In another he was spinningon two wheels round an acute corner, into the rue Jean Goujon; and ina third, as he shot through that short block to the avenue d'Antin, had increased his lead to fifteen yards. But he could never hope tobetter that: rather, the contrary. The pursuit had the more powerfulcar, and it was captained by one said to be the most daring andskilful motorist in France. 

The considerations that dictated Lanyard's simple strategy were soundif unformulated: barring interference on the part of thepolice--something he dared not count upon--his sole hope lay in openflight and in keeping persistently to the better-lighted, main-travelled thoroughfares, where a repetition of the attempt wouldbe inadvisable--at least, less probable. There was always a bare chanceof an accident--that De Morbihan's car would burst a tire or bepocketed by the traffic, enabling Lanyard to strike off into some mazeof dark side-streets, abandon the cab, and take to cover in good earnest. 

But that was a forlorn hope at best, and he knew it. Moreover, anaccident was as apt to happen to him as to De Morbihan: given anunsound tire or a puncture, or let him be delayed two seconds bysome traffic hindrance, and nothing short of a miracle could savehim.... 

As he swung from the avenue d'Antin into Rond Point des Champs Élysées, the nose of the pursuing car inched up on his right, effectuallyblocking any attempt to strike off toward the east, to the Boulevardsand the centre of the city's life by night. He had no choice but to flywest-wards. 

He cut an arc round the sexpartite circle of the Rond Point that lostno inch of advantage, and straightened out, ventre-à-terre, up the avenuefor the place de l'Étoile, shooting madly in and out of the tide of moreleisurely traffic--and ever the motor of the touring-car purredcontentedly just at his elbow. 

If there were police about, Lanyard saw nothing of them: not that hewould have dreamed of stopping or even of checking speed for anythingless than an immovable obstacle.... 

But as minutes sped it became apparent that there was to be no renewedattempt upon his life for the time being. The pursuers could afford towait. They could afford to ape the patience of Death itself. 

And it came then to Lanyard that he drove no more alone: Death was hispassenger. 

Absorbed though he was with the control of his machine and theever-shifting problems of the road, he still found time to think quiteclearly of himself, to recognize the fact that he was very likelylooking his last on Paris ... On life.... 

But a little longer, and the name of Michael Lanyard would be not evena memory to those whose lives composed the untiring life of this broadavenue. 

Before him the Arc de Triomphe loomed ever larger and more darklybeautiful against the field of midnight stars He wondered, would hereach it alive.... 

He did: still the pursuit bided its time. But the hood of thetouring-car nosed him inexorably round the arch, away from the avenuede la Grande Armée and into the avenue du Bois. 

Only when in full course for Porte Dauphine did he appreciate DeMorbihan's design. He was to be rushed out into the midnightsolitudes of the Bois de Boulogne and there run down and slain. 

But now he began to nurse a feeble thrill of hope. 

Once inside the park enclosure, he reckoned vaguely on someopportunity to make sudden halt, abandon the car and, taking refugein the friendly obscurity of trees and shrubbery, either make goodhis escape afoot or stand off the Apaches until police came to hisaid. With night to cloak his movements and with a clump of trees toshelter in, he dared believe he would have a chance for hislife--whereas in naked streets any such attempt would prove simplysuicidal. 

Infrequent glances over-shoulder showed no change in the gap betweenhis own and the car of the assassins. But his motor ran sweet and true:humouring it, coaxing it, he contrived a little longer to hold his own. 

Approaching the Porte Dauphine he became aware of two sergents de villestanding in the middle of the way and wildly brandishing their arms. Heheld on toward them relentlessly--it was their lives or his--and theyleaped aside barely in time to save themselves. 

And as he slipped into the park like a hunted shadow, he fancied thathe heard a pistol-shot--whether directed at himself by the Apaches, orfired by the police to emphasize their indignation, he couldn't say. But he was grateful enough it was a taxicab he drove, not a touring-car:lacking the body of his vehicle to shield him, he little doubted thata bullet would long since have found him. 

In that dead hour the drives of the Bois were almost deserted. Betweenthe porte and the first carrefour he passed only one motor-car, alimousine whose driver shouted something inarticulate as Lanyardhummed past. The freedom from traffic dangers was a relief: but thepursuit was creeping up, inch by inch, as he swung down the road-wayalong the eastern border of the lake; and still he had found noopening, had recognized no invitation in the lay of the land to attempthis one plan; as matters stood, the Apaches would be upon him beforehe could jump from his seat. 

Bending low over the wheel, searching with anxious eyes the shadowedreaches of that winding drive, he steered for a time with one hand, while the other tore open his ulster and brought his pistol intoreadiness. 

Then, as he topped the brow of the incline, above the whine of hismotor, the crackle of road-metal beneath the tires, and the boom of therushing air in his ears, he heard the sharp clatter of hoofs, andsurmised that the gendarmerie had given chase. 

And then, on a slight down-grade, though he took it at perilous speedand seemed veritably to ride the wind, the following machine, aided byits greater weight, began to close in still more rapidly. Momentarilythe hoarse snoring of its motor sounded more loud and menacing. It wasnow a mere question of seconds.... 

Inspiration of despair came to him, as wild as any ever conceived bymind of man. 

They approached a point where, on the left, a dense plantation walledthe road. To the right a wide foot walk separated the drive from agentle declivity sown with saplings, running down to the water. 

Rising in his place, Lanyard slipped from under him the heavywaterproof cushion. 

Then edging over to the left of the middle of the road, abruptly heshut off power and applied the brakes with all his might. 

From its terrific speed the cab came to a stop within twice its length. 

Lanyard was thrown forward against the wheel, but having braced inanticipation, escaped injury and effected instant recovery. 

The car of the Apaches was upon him in a pulse-beat. With no leastwarning of his intention, De Morbihan had no time to employ brakes. Lanyard saw its dark shape flash past the windows of his cab and hearda shout of triumph. Then with all his might he flung the heavy cushionacross that scant space, directly into the face of De Morbihan. 

His aim was straight and true. 

In alarm, unable to comprehend the nature of that large, dark, whirlingmass, De Morbihan attempted to lift a warding elbow. He was too slow:the cushion caught him in the face, full-force, and before he couldrecover or guess what he was doing, he had twisted the wheel sharply tothe right. 

The car, running a little less than locomotive speed, shot across thestrip of sidewalk, caught its right forewheel against a sapling, swungheavily broadside to the drive, and turned completely over as it shotdown the slope to the lake. 

A terrific crash was followed by a hideous chorus of oaths, shrieks, cries and groans. Promptly Lanyard started his motor anew and, tremblingin every limb, ran on for several hundred yards. But time pressed, andthe usefulness of his car was at an end, as far as he was concerned;there was no saying how many times its identity might not have beenestablished by the police in the course of that wild chase throughParis, or how soon these last might contrive to overhaul and apprehendhim; and as soon as a bend in the road shut off the scene of wreck, hestopped finally, jumped down, and plunged headlong into the darkmidnight heart of the Bois, seeking its silences where trees stoodthickest and lights were few. 

Later, like some worried creature of the night, panting, dishevelled, his rough clothing stained and muddied, he slunk across an open space, a mile or so from his point of disappearance, dropped cautiously downinto the dry bed of the moat, climbed as stealthily a slippery glacisof the fortifications, darted across the inner boulevard, and began todescribe a wide arc toward his destination, the hôtel Omber. 

XXI

APOSTATE

He was singularly free from any sort of exultation over the manner inwhich he had at once compassed his own escape and brought downcatastrophe upon his self-appointed murderers; his mood was quick withwonder and foreboding and bewilderment. The more closely he examinedthe affair, the more strange and inexplicable it bulked in hisunderstanding. He had not thought to defy the Pack and get off lightly;but he had looked for no such overt effort at disciplining him so longas he kept out of the way and suspended his criminal activities. Anunwilling recruit is a potential traitor in the camp; and retiredcompetition isn't to be feared. So it seemed that Wertheimer hadn'tbelieved his protestations, or else Bannon had rejected the reportwhich must have been made him by the girl. In either case, the Pack hadnot waited for the Lone Wolf to prove his insincerity; it hadn'tbothered to declare war; it had simply struck; with less warning thana rattlesnake gives, it had struck--out of the dark--at his back. 

And so--Lanyard swore grimly--even so would he strike, now that it washis turn, now that his hour dawned. 

But he would have given much for a clue to the riddle. Why must he besaddled with this necessity of striking in self-defence? Why had thisfeud been forced upon him, who asked nothing better than to be letalone? He told himself it wasn't altogether the professional jealousyof De Morbihan, Popinot and Wertheimer; it was the strange, rancorousspite that animated Bannon. 

But, again, why? Could it be that Bannon so resented the aid andencouragement Lanyard had afforded the girl in her abortive attempt toescape? Or was it, perhaps, that Bannon held Lanyard responsible for thearrest and death of Greggs?

Could it be possible that there was really anything substantial at thebottom of Wertheimer's wild yarn about the pretentiously named"International Underworld Unlimited"? Was this really a demonstrationof purpose to crush out competition--"and hang the expense"?

Or was there some less superficially tangible motive to be sought? DidBannon entertain some secret, personal animus against Michael Lanyardhimself as distinguished from the Lone Wolf?

Debating these questions from every angle but to no end, he workedhimself into a fine fury of exasperation, vowing he would consummatethis one final coup, sequestrate himself in England until the affairhad blown over, and in his own good time return to Paris to expose DeMorbihan (presuming he survived the wreck in the Bois) exterminatePopinot utterly, drive Wertheimer into permanent retirement at Dartmoor, and force an accounting from Bannon though it were surrendered togetherwith that invalid's last wheezing breaths.... 

In this temper he arrived, past one in the morning, under the walls ofthe hôtel Omber, and prudently selected a new point of attack. In thecourse of his preliminary examinations of the walls, it hadn't escapedhim that their brick-and-plaster construction was in bad repair; he hadmarked down several spots where the weather had eaten the outer coat ofplaster completely away. At one of these, midway between the avenue andthe junction of the side-streets, he hesitated. 

As he had foreseen, the mortar that bound the bricks together was alldry and crumbling; it was no great task to work one of them loose, making a foothold from which he might grasp with a gloved hand theglass-toothed curbing, cast his ulster across this for furtherprotection, and swing himself bodily atop the wall. 

But there, momentarily, he paused in doubt and trembling. In thatexposed and comfortless perch, the lifeless street on one hand, theblack mystery of the neglected park on the other, he was seized andshaken by a sudden revulsion of feeling like a sickness of his verysoul. Physical fear had nothing to do with this, for he was quite aloneand unobserved; had it been otherwise faculties trained through alifetime to such work as this and now keyed to concert pitch would nothave failed to give warning of whatever danger his grosser senses mighthave overlooked. 

Notwithstanding, he was afraid as though Fear's very self had laid holdof his soul by the heels and would not let it go until its vision ofitself was absolute. He was afraid with a great fear such as he hadnever dreamed to know; who knew well the wincing of the flesh from riskof pain, the shuddering of the spirit in the shadow of death, andhorror such as had gripped him that morning in poor Roddy's bed-chamber. 

But none of these had in any way taught him the measure of such fear asnow possessed him, so absolute that he quaked like a naked soul in theinexorable presence of the Eternal. 

He was afraid of himself, in panic terror of that ego which tenantedthe shell of functioning, sensitive stuff called Michael Lanyard: hewas afraid of the strange, silent, incomprehensible Self lurking occultin him, that masked mysterious Self which in its inscrutable whim couldmake him fine or make him base, that Self impalpable and elusive as anyshadow yet invincibly strong, his master and his fate, in one the graveof Yesterday, the cup of Today, the womb of Tomorrow.... 

He looked up at the tired, dull faces of those old dwellings thatloomed across the way with blind and lightless windows, sleepingwithout suspicion that he had stolen in among them--the grim and deadlything that walked by night, the Lone Wolf, creature of pillage andrapine, scourged slave of that Self which knew no law.... 

Then slowly that obsession lifted like the passing of a nightmare; andwith a start, a little shiver and a sigh, Lanyard roused and went on todo the bidding of his Self for its unfathomable ends.... 

Dropping silently to the soft, damp turf, he made himself one with theshadows of the park, as mute, intangible and fugitive as they, untilpresently coming out beneath the stars, on an open lawn running up tothe library wing of the hôtel, he approached a shallow stone balconywhich jutted forth eight feet above the lawn--an elevation soinconsiderable that, with one bound grasping its stone balustrade, the adventurer was upon it in a brace of seconds. 

Nor did the long French windows that opened on the balcony offer himany real hindrance: a penknife quickly removed the dried putty roundone small, lozenge-shaped pane, then pried out the pane itself; a handthrough this space readily found and turned the latch; a cautiouspressure opened the two wings far enough to admit his body; and--hestood inside the library. 

He had made no sound; and thanks to thorough familiarity with theground, he needed no light. The screen of cinnabar afforded all theprotection he required; and because he meant to accomplish his purposeand be out of the house with the utmost expedition, he didn't troubleto explore beyond a swift, casual review of the adjoining salons. 

The clock was chiming the three-quarters as he knelt behind the screenand grasped the combination-knob. 

But he did not turn it. That mellow music died out slowly, and left himtransfixed, there in the silence and gloom, his eyes staring wide intoblackness at nothing, his jaw set and rigid, his forehead knotted anddamp with sweat, his hands so clenched that the nails bit deep into hispalms; while he looked back over the abyss yawning between the LoneWolf of tonight and the man who had, within the week, knelt in thatspot in company with the woman he loved, bent on making restitutionthat his soul might be saved through her faith in him. 

He was visited by clear vision of himself: the thief caught in hiscrime by his conscience--or whatever it was, what for want of a bettername he must call his conscience: this thing within him that revoltedfrom his purpose, mutinied against the dictates of his Self, andstopped his hand from reaping the harvest of his cunning and daring;this sense of honour and of honesty that in a few brief days had grownmore dear to him than all else in life, knitting itself inextricablyinto the fibre of his being, so that to deny it were against Nature.... 

He closed his eyes to shut out the accusing vision, and knelt on, unstirring, though torn this way and that in the conflict of man's dualnature. 

Minutes passed without his knowledge. 

But in time he grew more calm; his hands relaxed, the muscles of hisbrow smoothed out, he breathed more slowly and deeply; his set lipsparted and a profound sigh whispered in the stillness. A greatweariness upon him, he rose slowly and heavily from the floor, andstood erect, free at last and forever from that ancient evil which solong had held his soul in bondage. 

And in that moment of victory, through the deep hush reigning in thehouse, he detected an incautious footfall on the parquetry of thereception-hall. 

XXII

TRAPPED

It was a sound so slight, so very small and still, that only asuper-subtle sense of hearing could have discriminated it from theconfused multiplicity of almost inaudible, interwoven, interdependentsounds that make up the slumberous quiet of every human habitation, bynight. 

Lanyard, whose training had taught him how to listen, had learned thatthe nocturnal hush of each and every house has its singular cadence, its own gentle movement of muted but harmonious sound in which theintroduction of an alien sound produces immediate discord, and to which, while at his work, he need attend only subconsciously since the leastvariation from the norm would give him warning. 

Now, in the silence of this old mansion, he detected a faint flutter ofdiscordance that sounded a note of stealth; such a note as no move ofhis since entering had evoked. 

He was no longer alone, but shared the empty magnificence of those vastsalons with one whose purpose was as furtive, as secret, as wary as hisown; no servant or watchman roused by an intuition of evil, but one whohad no more than he any lawful business there. 

And while he stood at alert attention the sound was repeated from apoint less distant, indicating that the second intruder was movingtoward the library. 

In two swift strides Lanyard left the shelter of the screen and took tocover in the recess of one of the tall windows, behind its heavy velvethangings: an action that could have been timed no more precisely had itbeen rehearsed; he was barely in hiding when a shape of shadow slippedinto the library, paused beside the massive desk, and raked the roomwith the light of a powerful flash-lamp. 

Its initial glare struck squarely into Lanyard's eyes, dazzling them, as he peered through a narrow opening in the portières; and though thelight was instantly shifted, for several moments a blur of peacockcolour, blending, ebbing, hung like a curtain in the darkness, and hecould see nothing distinctly--only the trail traced by that dancingspot-light over walls and furnishings. 

When at length his vision cleared, the newcomer was kneeling in turnbefore the safe; but more light was needed, and this one, lackingLanyard's patience and studious caution, turned back to the desk, and, taking the reading-lamp, transferred it to the floor behind the screen. 

But even before the flood of light followed the dull click of theswitch, Lanyard had recognized the woman. 

For an instant he felt dazed, half-stunned, suffocating, much as he hadfelt with Greggs' fingers tightening on his windpipe, that week-oldnight at Troyon's; he experienced real difficulty about breathing, andwas conscious of a sickish throbbing in his temples and a pounding inhis bosom like the tolling of a great bell. He stared, swaying.... 

The light, gushing from the opaque hood, made the safe door a glare, and was thrown back into her intent, masked face, throwing out in sharpsilhouette her lithe, sweet body, indisputably identified by theindividual poise of her head and shoulders and the gracious contoursof her tailored coat. 

She was all in black, even to her hands, no trace of white or anycolour showing but the fair curve of the cheek below her mask and thered of her lips. And if more evidence were needed, the intelligencewith which she attacked the combination, the confident, business-likeprecision distinguishing her every action, proved her an apt pupil inthat business. 

His thoughts were all in a welter of miserable confusion. He knew thatthis explained many things he would have held questionable had not hisinfatuation forbidden him to consider them at all, lest he be disloyalto this woman whom he adored; but in the anguish of that moment hecould entertain but one thought, and that possessed him altogether--thatshe must somehow be saved from the evil she contemplated.... 

But while he hesitated, she became sensitive to his presence; though hehad made no sound since her entrance, though he had not even stirred, somehow she divined that he--someone--was there in the recess of thewindow, watching her. 

In the act of opening the safe--using the memorandum of its combinationwhich he had jotted down in her presence--he saw her pause, freeze to apose of attention, then turn to stare directly at the portière that hidhim. And for an eternal second she remained kneeling there, so stillthat she seemed not even to breathe, her gaze fixed and level, waitingfor some sound, some sign, some tremor of the curtain's folds, toconfirm her suspicion. 

When at length she rose it was in one swift, alert movement. And as shepaused with her slight shoulders squared and her head thrown backdefiantly, challengingly, as one without will of his own but drawnirresistibly by her gaze, he stepped out into the room. 

And since he was no more the Lone Wolf, but now a simple man in agony, with no thought for their circumstances--for the fact that they wereboth house-breakers and that the slightest sound might raise ahue-and-cry upon them--he took one faltering step toward her, stopped, lifted a hand in a gesture of appeal, and stammered:

"Lucy--you----"

His voice broke and failed. 

She didn't answer, more than by recoiling as though he had offered tostrike her, until the table stopped her, and she leaned back as ifglad of its support. 

"Oh!" she cried, trembling--"why_--why_ did you do it?"

He might have answered her in kind, but self-justification passed hispower. He couldn't say, "Because this evening you made me lose faithin everything, and I thought to forget you by going to the devil thequickest way I knew--this way!"--though that was true. He couldn't say:"Because, a thief from boyhood, habit proved too strong for me, and Icouldn't withstand temptation!"--for that was untrue. He could onlyhang his head and mumble the wretched confession: "I don't know. "

As if he hadn't spoken, she cried again: "Why--_why_ did you do it? Iwas so proud of you, so sure of you, the man who had turned straightbecause of me!... It compensated... But now... !"

Her voice broke in a short, dry sob. 

"Compensated?" he repeated stupidly. 

"Yes, compensated!" She lifted her head with a gesture of impatience:"For this--don't you understand?--for this that I'm doing! You don'timagine I'm here of my own will?--that I went back to Bannon for anyreason but to try to save you from him? I knew something of his power, and you didn't; I knew if I went away with you he'd never rest untilhe had you murdered. And I thought if I could mislead him by lies fora little time--long enough to give you a chance to escape--I thought--perhaps--I might be able to communicate with the police, denouncehim----"

She hesitated, breathless and appealing. 

At her first words he had drawn close to her; and all their talk wasmurmurings. But this was quite instinctive; for both were beyondconsiderations of prudence, the one coherent thought of each beingthat now, once and forever, all misunderstanding must be done awaywith. 

Now, as naturally as though they had been lovers always, Lanyard tookher hand, and clasped it between his own. 

"You cared as much as that!"

"I love you, " she told him--"I love you so much I am ready to sacrificeeverything for you--life, liberty, honour----"

"Hush, dearest, hush!" he begged, half distracted. 

"I mean it: if honour could hold me back, do you think I would havebroken in here tonight to steal for Bannon?"

"He sent you, eh?" Lanyard commented in a dangerous voice. 

"He was too cunning for me... I was afraid to tell you... I meant totell--to warn you, this evening in the cab. But then I thought perhapsif I said nothing and sent you away believing the worst of me--perhapsyou would save yourself and forget me----"

"But never!"

"I tried my best to deceive him, but couldn't. They got the truth fromme by threats----"

"They wouldn't dare----"

"They dare anything, I tell you! They knew enough of what had happened, through their spies, to go on, and they tormented and bullied me untilI broke down and told them everything... And when they learned you hadbrought the jewels back here, Bannon told me I must bring them tohim--that, if I refused, he'd have you killed. I held out untiltonight; then just as I was about to go to bed he received a telephonemessage, and told me you were driving a taxi and followed by Apachesand wouldn't live till daylight if I persisted in refusing. "

"You came alone?"

"No. Three men brought me to the gate. They're waiting outside, in thepark. "

"Apaches?"

"Two of them. The other is Captain Ekstrom. "

"Ekstrom!" Lanyard cried in despair. "Is he----"

The dull, heavy, crashing slam of the great front doors silenced him. 

XXIII

MADAME OMBER

Before the echo of that crash ceased to reverberate from room to room, Lanyard slipped to one side of the doorway, from which point he couldcommand the perspective of the salons together with a partial view ofthe front doors. And he was no more than there, in the shadow of theportières, when light from an electrolier flooded the reception-hall. 

It showed him a single figure, that of a handsome woman, considerablybeyond middle age but still a well-poised, vigorous, and commandingpresence, in full evening dress of such magnificence as to suggestrecent attendance at some State function. 

Standing beneath the light, she was restoring a key to a brocadedhand-bag. This done, she turned her head and spoke indistinguishablyover her shoulder. Promptly there came into view a second woman ofabout the same age, but even more strong and able of appearance--aserving-woman, in plain, dark garments, undoubtedly madame's maid. 

Handing over the brocaded bag, madame unlatched the throat of herermine cloak and surrendered it to the servant's care. 

Her next words were audible, and reassuring in as far as theyindicated ignorance of anything amiss. 

"Thank you, Sidonie. You may go to bed now. "

"Madame will not need me to undress her?"

"I'm not ready yet. When I am--I'm old enough to take care of myself. Besides, I prefer you to go to bed, Sidonie. It doesn't improve yourtemper to lose your beauty sleep. "

"Many thanks, madame. Good night. "

"Good night. "

The maid moved off toward the main staircase, while her mistress turneddeliberately through the salons toward the library. 

At this, swinging back to the girl in a stride, and grasping her wristto compel attention, Lanyard spoke in a rapid whisper, mouth close toher ear, but his solicitude so unselfish and so intense that for themoment he was altogether unconscious of either her allure or hispassion. 

"This way, " he said, imperatively drawing her toward the window bywhich he had entered: "there's a balcony outside--a short drop to theground. " And unlatching the window, he urged her through it. "Try toleave by the back gateway--the one I showed you before--avoidingEkstrom----"

"But surely you are coming too?" she insisted, hanging back. 

"Impossible: there's no time for us both to escape undetected. I shallkeep madame interested only long enough for you to get away. But takethis"--and he pressed his automatic into her hand. "No--take it; I'veanother, " he lied, "and you may need it. Don't fear for me, but go--Omy heart!--go!"

The footfalls of Madame Omber were sounding dangerously near, andwithout giving the girl more opportunity to protest, Lanyard closedthe windows, shot the latch and stole like a cat round the fartherside of the desk, pausing within a few feet of the screen and safe. 

The desk-lamp was still burning, where the girl had left it behind thecinnabar screen; and Lanyard knew that the diffusion of its rays wasenough to render his figure distinctly and immediately visible to oneentering the doorway. 

Now everything hung upon the temper of the house-holder, whether shewould take that apparition quietly, deceived by Lanyard's mumming intobelieving she had only a poor thievish fool to deal with, or with astorm of bourgeois hysteria. In the latter event, Lanyard's hand wasready planted, palm down, on the top of the desk: should the womanattempt to give the alarm, a single bound would carry the adventureracross it in full flight for the front doors. 

In the doorway the mistress of the house appeared and halted, her quickbright eyes shifting from the light on the floor to the dark figure ofthe thief. Then, in a stride, she found a switch and turned on thechandelier, a blaze of light. 

As this happened, Lanyard cowered, lifting an elbow as though to guardhis face--as though expecting to find himself under the muzzle of arevolver. 

The gesture had the calculated effect of focussing the attention of thewoman exclusively to him, after one swift glance round had shown her aroom tenanted only by herself and a cringing thief. And immediately itwas made manifest that, whether or not deceived, she meant to take thesituation quietly, if in a strong hand. 

Her eyes narrowed and the muscles of her square, almost masculine jawhardened ominously as she looked the intruder up and down. Then aflicker of contempt modified the grimness of her countenance. She tookthree steps forward, pausing on the other side of the desk, her back tothe doorway. 

Lanyard trembled visibly.... 

"Well!"--the word boomed like the opening gun of an engagement--"Well, my man!"--the shrewd eyes swerved to the closed door of the safe andquickly back again--"you don't seem to have accomplished much!"

"For God's sake, madame!" Lanyard blurted in a husky, shaken voice, nothing like his own--"don't have me arrested! Give me a chance! Ihaven't taken anything. Don't call the flics!"

He checked, moving an uncertain hand towards his throat as if histongue had gone dry. 

"Come, come!" the woman answered, with a look almost of pity. "Ihaven't called anyone--as yet. "

The fingers of one strong white hand were drumming gently on the top ofthe desk; then, with a movement so quick and sure that Lanyard himselfcould hardly have bettered it, they slipped down to a handle of adrawer, jerked it open, closed round the butt of a revolver, andpresented it at the adventurer's head. 

Automatically he raised both hands. 

"Don't shoot!" he cried. "I'm not armed----"

"Is that the truth?"

"You've only to search me, madame!"

"Thanks!" Madame's accents now discovered a trace of dry humour. "I'llleave that to you. Turn out your pockets on the desk there--and, remember, I'll stand no nonsense!"

The weapon covered Lanyard steadily, leaving him no choice but to obey. As it happened, he was glad of the excuse to listen for sounds to tellhow the girl was faring in her flight, and made a pretence of tremblingfingers cover the slowness with which he complied. 

But he heard nothing. 

When he had visibly turned every pocket inside out, and their contentslay upon the desk, the woman looked the exhibits over incuriously. 

"Put them back, " she said curtly. "And then fetch that chair overthere--the one in the corner. I've a notion I'd like to talk to you. That's the usual thing, isn't it?"

"How?" Lanyard demanded with a vacant stare. 

"In all the criminal novels I've ever read, the law-abiding householderalways sits down and has a sociable chat with the house-breaker--beforecalling in the police. I'm afraid that's part of the price you've gotto pay for my hospitality. "

She paused, eyeing Lanyard inquisitively while he restored hisbelongings to his pockets. "Now, get that chair!" she ordered; andwaited, standing, until she had been obeyed. "That's it--there!Sit down. "

Leaning against the desk, her revolver held negligently, the speakerfavoured Lanyard with a more leisurely inspection; the harshness ofher stare was softened, and the anger which at first had darkened hercountenance was gone by the time she chose to pursue her catechism. 

"What's your name? No--don't answer! I saw your eyes waver, and I'mnot interested in a makeshift alias. But it's the stock question, youknow.... Do you care for a cigar?"

She opened a mahogany humidor on the desk. 

"No, thanks. "

"Right--according to Hoyle: the criminal always refuses to smoke inthese scenes. But let's forget the book and write our own lines. I'llask you an original question: Why were you acting just now?"

"Acting?" Lanyard repeated, intrigued by the acuteness of thismasterful woman's mentality. 

"Precisely--pretending you were a common thief. For a moment youactually made me think you afraid of me. But you're neither the onenor the other. How do I know? Because you're unarmed, your voice haschanged in the last two minutes to that of a cultivated man, you'vestopped cringing and started thinking, and the way you walked acrossthe floor and handled that chair showed how powerfully you're made. IfI didn't have this revolver, you could overpower me in an instant--andI'm no weakling, as women go. So--why the acting?"

Studying his captor with narrow interest, Lanyard smiled faintly andshrugged, but made no answer. He could do no more than this--no morethan spare for time: the longer he indulged madame in her whim, thebetter Lucy's chances of scot-free escape. By this time, he reckoned, she would have found her way through the service gate to the street. But he was on edge with unending apprehension of mischance. 

"Come, come!" Madame Omber insisted. "You're hardly civil, my man. Answer my question!"

"You don't expect me to--do you?"

"Why not? You owe me at least satisfaction of my curiosity, in returnfor breaking into my house. "

"But if, as you suggest, I am--or was--acting with a purpose, whyexpect me to give the show away?"

"That's logic. I knew you could think. More's the pity!"

"Pity I can think?"

"Pity you can get your own consent to waste yourself like this. I'man old woman, and I know men better than most; I can see ability inyou. So I say, it's a pity you won't use yourself to better advantage. Don't misunderstand me: this isn't the conventional act; I don't holdwith encouraging a fool in his folly. You're a fool, for all yourintelligence, and the only cure I can see for you is drasticpunishment. "

"Meaning the Santé, madame?"

"Quite so. I tell you frankly, when I'm finished lecturing you, off yougo to prison. "

"If that's the case I don't see I stand to gain much by retailing thehistory of my life. This seems to be your cue to ring for servants tocall the police. "

A trace of anger shone in the woman's eyes. "You're right, " she saidshortly; "I dare say Sidonie isn't asleep yet. I'll get her totelephone while I keep an eye on you. "

Bending over the desk, without removing her gaze from the adventurer, his captor groped for, found, and pressed a call-button. 

From some remote quarter of the house sounded the grumble of anelectric bell. 

"Pity you're so brazen, " she observed. "Just a little less side, andyou'd be a rather engaging person!"

Lanyard made no reply. In fact he wasn't listening. 

Under the strain of that suspense, the iron control which had alwaysbeen his was breaking down--since now it was for another he wasconcerned. And he wasted no strength trying to enforce it. The stressof his anxiety was both undisguised and undisguisable. Nor did MadameOmber overlook it. 

"What's the trouble, eh? Is it that already you hear the cell doorclang in your ears?"

As she spoke, Lanyard left his chair with a movement in the executionof which all his wits co-operated, with a spring as lithe and sureand swift as an animal's, that carried him like a shot across the twoyards or so between them. 

The slightest error in his reckoning would have finished him: for theother had been watching for just such a move, and the revolver wasnearly level with Lanyard's head when he grasped it by the barrel, turned that to the ceiling, imprisoned the woman's wrist with hisother hand, and in two movements had captured the weapon withoutinjuring its owner. 

"Don't be alarmed, " he said quietly. "I'm not going to do anythingmore violent than to put this weapon out of commission. "

Breaking it smartly, he shot a shower of cartridges to the door, andtossed the now-useless weapon into a wastebasket beneath the desk. 

"Hope I didn't hurt you, " he added abstractedly--"but your pistol wasin my way!"

He took a stride toward the door, pulled up, and hung in hesitation, frowning absently at the woman; who, without moving, laughed quietlyand watched him with a twinkle of malicious diversion. 

He repaid this with a stare of thoughtful appraisal; from the first hehad recognized in her a character of uncommon tolerance and amiability. 

"Pardon, madame, but----" he began abruptly--and checked in constrainedappreciation of his impudence. 

"If that's permission to interrupt your reverie, " Madame Omber remarked, "I don't mind telling you, you're the most extraordinary burglar I everheard of!"

Footfalls became audible on the staircase--the hasty scuffling ofslippered feet. 

"Is that you, Sidonie?" madame called. 

The voice of the maid replied: "Yes, madame--coming!"

"Well--don't, just yet--not till I call you. "

"Very good, madame. "

The woman returned complete attention to Lanyard. 

"Now, monsieur-of-two-minds, what is it you wish to say to me?"

"Why did you do that?" the adventurer asked, with a jerk of his headtoward the hall. 

"Tell Sidonie to wait instead of calling for help? Because--well, because you interest me strangely. I've got a theory you're in adesperate quandary and are about to throw yourself on my mercy. "

"You are right, " Lanyard admitted tersely. 

"Ah! Now you do begin to grow interesting! Would you mind explainingwhy you think I'll be merciful?"

"Because, madame, I've done you a great service, and feel I can countupon your gratitude. "

The Frenchwoman's eyebrows lifted at this. "Doubtless, monsieur knowswhat he's talking about----"

"Listen, madame: I am in love with a young woman, an American, astranger and friendless in Paris. If anything happens to metonight, if I am arrested or assassinated----"

"Is that likely?"

"Quite likely, madame: I have enemies among the Apaches, and in my ownprofession as well; and I have reason to believe that several of themare in this neighbourhood tonight. I may possibly not escape theirattentions. In that event, this young lady of whom I speak will needa protector. "

"And why must I interest myself in her fate, pray?"

"Because, madame, of this service I have done you ... Recently, inLondon, you were robbed----"

The woman started and coloured with excitement: "You know something ofmy jewels?"

"Everything, madame: it was I who stole them. "

"You? You are, then, that Lone Wolf?"

"I was, madame. "

"Why the past tense?" the woman demanded, eyeing him with a portentousfrown. 

"Because I am done with thieving. "

She threw back her head and laughed, but without mirth: "A likely story, monsieur! Have you reformed since I caught you here----?"

"Does it matter when? I take it that proof, visible, tangible proof ofmy sincerity, more than a meaningless date, would be needed to convinceyou. "

"No doubt of that, Monsieur the Lone Wolf!"

"Could you ask better proof than the restoration of your stolenproperty?"

"Are you trying to bribe me to let you off with an offer to return myjewels?"

"I'm afraid emergency reformation wouldn't persuade you----"

"You may well be afraid, monsieur!"

"But if I can prove I've already restored your jewels----?"

"But you have not. "

"If madame will do me the favour to open her safe, she will find themthere--conspicuously placed. "

"What nonsense----!"

"Am I wrong in assuming that madame didn't return from England untilquite recently?"

"But today, in fact----"

"And you haven't troubled to investigate your safe since returning?"

"It had not occurred to me----"

"Then why not test my statement before denying it?"

With an incredulous shrug Madame Omber terminated a puzzled scrutinyof Lanyard's countenance, and turned to the safe. 

"But to have done what you declare you have, " she argued, "you musthave known the combination--since it appears you haven't broken thisopen. "

The combination ran glibly off Lanyard's tongue. And at this, withevery evidence of excitement, at length beginning to hope if not tobelieve, the woman set herself to open the safe. Within a minute shehad succeeded, the morocco-bound jewel-case was in her hand, and ahasty examination had assured her its treasure was intact. 

"But why----?" she stammered, pale with emotion--"why, monsieur, _why_?"

"Because I decided to leave off stealing for a livelihood. "

"When did you bring these jewels here?"

"Within the week--four or five nights since----"

"And then--repented, eh?"

"I own it. "

"But came here again tonight, to steal a second time what you hadstolen once?"

"That's true, too. "

"And I interrupted you----"

"Pardon, madame: not you, but my better self. I came to steal--I couldnot. "

"Monsieur--you do not convince. I fail to fathom your motives, but----"

A sudden shock of heavy trampling feet in the reception-hall, accompanied by a clash of excited voices, silenced her and broughtLanyard instantly to the face-about. 

Above that loud wrangle--of which neither had received the leastwarning, so completely had their argument absorbed them--Sidonie'saccents were audible:

"Madame--madame!"--a cry of protest. 

"What is it?" madame demanded of Lanyard. 

He threw her the word "Police!" as he turned and flung himself into therecess of the window. 

But when he wrenched it open the voice of a picket on the lawn salutedhim in sharp warning; and when, involuntarily, he stepped out upon thebalcony, a flash of flame split the gloom below, a loud report rang inthe quiet of the park, and a bullet slapped viciously the stone facingof the window. 

XXIV

RENDEZVOUS

With as little ceremony as though the bullet had lodged in himself, Lanyard tumbled back into the room, tripped, and fell sprawling; whileto a tune of clattering boots two sergents de ville lumbered valiantlyinto the library and pulled up to discover Madame Omber standingcalmly, safe and sound, beside her desk, and Lanyard picking himselfup from the floor by the open window. 

Behind them Sidonie trotted, wringing her hands. 

"Madame!" she bleated--"they wouldn't listen to me, madame--I couldn'tstop them!"

"All right, Sidonie. Go back to the hall. I'll call you when needed.... Messieurs, good morning!"

One of the sergents advanced with an uncertain salute and a superfluousquestion: "Madame Omber----?" The other waited on the threshold, barring the way. 

Lanyard measured the two speculatively: the spokesman seemed a bit oldand fat, ripe for his pension, little apt to prove seriously effectivein a rough-and-tumble; but the other was young, sturdy, andbroad-chested, with the poise of an athlete, and carried in addition tohis sword a pistol naked in his hand, while his clear blue eyes, meetingthe adventurer's, lighted up with a glint of invitation. 

For the present, however, Lanyard wasn't taking any. He met thatchallenge with a look of utter stupidity, folded his arms, loungedagainst the desk, and watched Madame Omber acknowledge, none toocordially, the other sergent's query. 

"I am Madame Omber--yes. What can I do for you?"

The sergent gaped. "Pardon!" he stammered, then laughed as one whotardily appreciates a joke. "It is well we are arrived in time, madame, " he added--"though it would seem you have not had great troublewith this miscreant. Where is the woman?"

He moved a pace toward Lanyard: hand-cuffs jingled in his grasp. 

"But a moment!" madame interposed. "Woman? What woman?"

Pausing, the older sergent explained in a tone of surprise:

"But his accomplice, naturally! Such were our instructions--to proceedat once to madame's hôtel, come in quietly by the servants' entrance--which would be open--and arrest a burglar with his female accomplice. "

Again the stout sergent moved toward Lanyard; again Madame Omberstopped him. 

"But one moment more, if you please!"

Her eyes, dense with suspicion, questioned Lanyard; who, with asignificant nod toward the jewel-case still in her hands, gave her aglance of dumb entreaty. 

After brief hesitation, "It is a mistake, " madame declared; "there isno woman in this house, to my certain knowledge, who has no right to behere... But you say you received a message? I sent none!"

The fat sergent shrugged. "That is not for me to dispute, madame. Ihave only my orders to go by. "

He glared sullenly at Lanyard; who returned a placid smile that(despite such hope as he might derive from madame's irresolute manner)masked a vast amount of trepidation. He felt tolerably sure MadameOmber had not sent for police on prior knowledge of his presence inthe library. All this, then, would seem to indicate a new form ofattack on the part of the Pack. He had probably been followed and seento enter; or else the girl had been caught attempting to steal away andthe information wrung from her by _force majeure_.... Moreover, hecould hear two more pair of feet tramping through the salons. 

Pending the arrival of these last, Madame Omber said nothing more. 

And, unceremoniously enough, the newcomers shouldered into thelibrary--one pompous uniformed body, of otherwise undistinguishedappearance, promptly identified by the sergents de ville as monsieurle commissaire of that quarter; the other, a puffy mediocrity, knownto Lanyard at least (if apparently to no one else) as Popinot. 

At this confirmation of his darkest fears, the adventurer abandonedhope of aid from Madame Omber and began quietly to reckon his chancesof escape through his own efforts. 

But he was quite unarmed, and the odds were heavy: four against one, all four no doubt under arms, and two at least--the sergents--men ofsound military training. 

"Madame Omber?" enquired the commissaire, saluting that lady withimmense dignity. "One trusts that this intrusion may be pardoned, thecircumstances remembered. In an affair of this nature, involving thisrepository of so historic treasures--"

"That is quite well understood, monsieur le commissaire, " madamereplied distantly. "And this monsieur is, no doubt, your aide?"

"Pardon!" the official hastened to identify his companion: "MonsieurPopinot, agent de la Sûreté, who lays these informations!"

With a profound obeisance to Madame Omber, Popinot strode dramaticallyover to confront Lanyard and explore his features with his small, keen, shifty eyes of a pig; a scrutiny which the adventurer suffered withsuperficial calm. 

"It is he!" Popinot announced with a gesture. "Messieurs, I call uponyou to arrest this man, Michael Lanyard, alias 'The Lone Wolf. '"

He stepped back a pace, expanding his chest in vain effort to eclipsehis abdomen, and glanced triumphantly at his respectful audience. 

"Accused, " he added with intense relish, "of the murder of InspectorRoddy of Scotland Yard at Troyon's, as well as of setting fire to thatestablishment--"

"For this, Popinot, " Lanyard interrupted in an undertone, "I shall someday cut off your ears!" He turned to Madame Omber: "Accept, if youplease, madame, my sincere regrets ... But this charge happens to beone of which I am altogether innocent. "

Instantly, from lounging against the desk, Lanyard straightened up: andthe heavy humidor of brass and mahogany, on which his right hand hadbeen resting, seemed fairly to leap from its place as, with a sweep ofhis arm, he sent it spinning point-blank at the younger sergent. 

Before that one, wholly unprepared, could more than gasp, the humidorcaught him a blow like a kick just below the breastbone. He reeled, thebreath left him in one great gust, he sat down abruptly--blue eyes widewith a look of aggrieved surprise--clapped both hands to his middle, blinked, turned pale, and keeled over on his side. 

But Lanyard hadn't waited to note results. He was busy. The fat sergenthad leaped snarling upon his arm, and was struggling to hold it stilllong enough to snap a hand-cuff round the wrist; while the commissairehad started forward with a bellow of rage and two hands extended anditching for the adventurer's throat. 

The first received a half-arm jab on the point of his chin that jarredhis entire system, and without in the least understanding how ithappened, found himself whirled around and laid prostrate in thecommissaire's path. The latter tripped, fell, and planted two hardknees, with the bulk of his weight atop them, on the apex of thesergent's paunch. 

At the same time Lanyard, leaping toward the doorway, noticed Popinottugging at something in his hip-pocket. 

Followed a vivid flash, then complete darkness: with a well-aimedkick--an elementary movement of la savate--Lanyard had dislocated theswitch of the electric lights, knocking its porcelain box from thewall, breaking the connection, and creating a short-circuit whichextinguished every light in that part of the house. 

With his way thus apparently cleared, the police in confusion, darknessaiding him, Lanyard plunged on; but in mid-stride, as he crossed thethreshold, his ankle was caught by the still prostrate younger sergentand jerked from under him. 

His momentum threw him with a crash--and may have spared him a worsemishap; for in the same breath he heard the report of a pistol and knewthat Popinot had fired at his fugitive shadow. 

As he brought one heel down with crushing force on the sergent's wrist, freeing his foot, he was dimly conscious of the voice of the commissaireshouting frantic prayers to cease firing. Then the pain-maddened sergentcrawled to his knees, lunged blindly forward, knocked the adventurerback in the act of rising, and fell on top of him. 

Hampered by two hundred pounds of fighting Frenchman, Lanyard felt hiscause was lost, yet battled on--and would while breath was in him. 

With a heave, a twist and a squirm, he slipped from under, and swinginga fist at random barked his knuckles against the mouth of the sergent. Momentarily that one relaxed his hold, and Lanyard struggled to hisknees, only to go down as the indomitable Frenchman grappled yet asecond time. 

Now, however, as they fell, Lanyard was on top: and shifting both handsto his antagonist's left forearm, he wrenched it up and around. Therewas a cry of pain, and he jumped clear of one no longer to be reckonedwith. 

Nevertheless, as he had feared, the delay had proved ruinous. He hadonly found his feet when an unidentified person hurled himself bodilythrough the gloom and wrapped his arms round Lanyard's thighs. And asboth went down, two others piled up on top.... 

For the next minute or two, Lanyard fought blindly, madly, viciously, striking and kicking at random. For all that--even with one sergenthors de combat--they were three to one; and though with the ferocity ofsheer desperation he shook them all off, at one time, and gained a fewyards more, it was only again to be overcome and borne down, crushedbeneath the weight of three. 

His wind was going, his strength was leaving him. He mustered up everyounce of energy, all his wit and courage, for one last effort: foughtlike a cat, tooth and nail; toiled once more to his knees, with twoclinging to him like wolves to the flanks of a stag; shook one off, regained his feet, swayed; and in one final gust of ferocity dashedboth fists repeatedly into the face of him who still clung to him. 

That one was Popinot; he knew instinctively that this was so; and agrim joy filled him as he felt the man's clutches relax and fall away, and guessed how brutal was the damage he had done that fat, evil face. 

At length free, he made off, running, stumbling, reeling: gained thehall; flung open the door; and heedless of the picket who had fired onhim from below the window, dashed down the steps and away.... 

Three shots sped him through that intricate tangle of night-bound park. But all went wide; the pursuit--what little there was--blundered offat hap-hazard and lost itself, as well. 

He came to the wall, crept along in shelter of its shadow until hefound a tree with a low-swung branch that jutted out over the street, climbed this, edged out over the wall, and dropped to the sidewalk. 

A shout from the quarter of the carriage gates greeted his appearance. He turned and ran again. Flying footsteps for a time pursued him; andonce, with a sinking heart, he heard the rumble of a motor. But herecovered quickly, regained his wind, and ran well, with long, steady, ground-consuming strides; and he doubled, turned and twisted in amanner to wake the envy of the most subtle fox. 

In time he felt warranted in slowing down to a rapid walk. 

Weariness was now a heavy burden upon him, and his spirit numb withdesperate need of rest; but his pace did not flag, nor his purposefalter from its goal. 

It was a long walk if a direct one to which he set himself as soon asconfident the pursuit had failed once more. He plodded on, withoutfaltering, to the one place where he might feel sure of finding hisbeloved, if she lived and were free. He knew that she had notforgotten, and in his heart he knew that she would never again of herown will fail him.... 

Nor had she: when--weary and spent from that heartbreaking climb up themerciless acclivity of the Butte Montmartre--he staggered rather thanwalked past the sleepy verger and found his way through the crowdingshadows to the softly luminous heart of the basilica of the Sacré-Cour, he found her there, kneeling, her head bowed upon hands resting on theback of the chair before her: a slight and timid figure, lost and lonelyin the long ranks of empty chairs that filled the nave. 

Slowly, almost fearfully, he went to her, and silently he slipped intothe chair by her side. 

She knew, without looking up, that it was he.... 

After a little her hand stole out, closed round his fingers, and drewhim forward with a gentle, insistent pressure. He knelt then with her, hand in hand--filled with the wonder of it, that he to whom religionhad been nothing should have been brought to this by a woman's hand. 

He knelt for a long time, for many minutes, profoundly intrigued, hissombre gaze questioning the golden shadows and ancient mystery of thedistant choir and shining altar: and there was no question in his heartbut that, whatever should ensue of this, the unquiet spirit of the LoneWolf was forevermore at rest. 

XXV

WINGS OF THE MORNING

About half-past six Lanyard left the dressing-room assigned him in thebarracks at Port Aviation and, waddling quaintly in the heavywind-resisting garments supplied him at the instance of Ducroy, madehis way between two hangars toward the practice field. 

Now the eastern skies were pulsing with fitful promise of the dawn; butwithin the vast enclosure of the aerodrome the gloom of night lingeredso stubbornly that two huge search-lights had been pressed into theservice of those engaged in tuning up the motor of the Parrott biplane. 

In the intense, white, concentrated glare--that rippled oddly upon thewrinkled, oily garments of the dozen or so mechanics busy about themachine--the under sides of those wide, motionless planes hung againstthe dark with an effect of impermanence: as though they were alreadyafloat and needed but a breath to send them winging skyward.... 

To one side a number of young and keen-faced Frenchmen, officers of thecorps, were lounging and watching the preparations with alert andintelligent interest. 

To the other, all the majesty of Mars was incarnate in the person ofMonsieur Ducroy, posing valiantly in fur-lined coat and shining top-hatwhile he chatted with an officer whose trim, athletic figure was wellset off by his aviating uniform. 

As Lanyard drew near, this last brought his heels together smartly, saluted the Minister of War, and strode off toward the flying-machine. 

"Captain Vauquelin informs me he will be ready to start in fiveminutes, monsieur, " Ducroy announced. "You are in good time. "

"And mademoiselle?" the adventurer asked, peeringanxiously round. 

Almost immediately the girl came forward from the shadows, with a smileapologetic for the strangeness of her attire. 

She had donned, over her street dress, an ample leather garment whichenveloped her completely, buttoning tight at throat and wrists andankles. Her small hat had been replaced by a leather helmet which leftonly her eyes, nose, mouth and chin exposed, and even these were soonto be hidden by a heavy veil for protection against spattering oil. 

"Mademoiselle is not nervous?" Ducroy enquired politely. 

Lucy smiled brightly. 

"I? Why should I be, monsieur?"

"I trust mademoiselle will permit me to commend her courage. Butpardon! I have one last word for the ear of Captain Vauquelin. "

Lifting his hat, the Frenchman joined the group near the machine. 

Lanyard stared unaffectedly at the girl, unable to disguise his wonderat the high spirits advertised by her rekindled colour and brillianteyes. 

"Well?" she demanded gaily. "Don't tell me I don't look like a fright!I know I do!"

"I daren't tell you how you look to me, " Lanyard replied soberly. "ButI will say this, that for sheer, down right pluck, you--"

"Thank you, monsieur! And you?"

He glanced with a deprecatory smile at the flimsy-looking contrivanceto which they were presently to entrust their lives. 

"Somehow, " said he doubtfully, "I don't feel in the least upset orexhilarated. It seems little out of the average run of life--all in theday's work!"

"I think, " she said, judgmatical, "that you're very like the other lonewolf, the fictitious one--Lupin, you know--a bit of a blagueur. Ifyou're not nervous, why keep glancing over there?--as if you wererather expecting somebody--as if you wouldn't be surprised to seePopinot or De Morbihan pop out of the ground--or Ekstrom!"

"Hum!" he said gravely. "I don't mind telling you now, that's preciselywhat I am afraid of. "

"Nonsense!" the girl cried in open contempt. "What could they do?"

"Please don't ask me, " Lanyard begged seriously. "I might try to tellyou. "

"But don't worry, my dear!" Fugitively her hand touched his. "We'reready. "

It was true enough: Ducroy was moving impressively back toward them. 

"All is prepared, " he announced in sonorous accents. 

A bit sobered, in silence they approached the machine. 

Vauquelin kept himself aloof while Lanyard and a young officer helpedthe girl to the seat to the right of the pilot, and strapped her in. When Lanyard had been similarly secured in the place on the left, thetwo sat, imprisoned, some six feet above the ground. 

Lanyard found his perch comfortable enough. A broad band of webbingfurnished support for his back; another crossed his chest by way ofprovision against forward pitching; there were rests for his feet, andfor his hands cloth-wound grips fixed to struts on either side. 

He smiled at Lucy across the empty seat, and was surprised at theclearness with which her answering smile was visible. But he wasn't tosee it again for a long and weary time; almost immediately she began toadjust her veil. 

The morning had grown much lighter within the last few minutes. 

A long wait ensued, during which the swarm of mechanics, assistants andmilitary aviators buzzed round their feet like bees. 

The sky was now pale to the western horizon. A fleet of heavy cloudswas drifting off into the south, leaving in their wake thin veils ofmist that promised soon to disappear before the rays of the sun. Theair seemed tolerably clear and not unseasonably cold. 

The light grew stronger still: features of distant objects definedthemselves; traces of colour warmed the winter landscape. 

At length their pilot, wearing his wind-mask, appeared and began toclimb to his perch. With a cool nod for Lanyard and a civil bow to hiswoman passenger, he settled himself, adjusted several levers, andflirted a gay hand to his brother-officers. 

There was a warning cry. The crowd dropped back rapidly to either side. Ducroy lifted his hat in parting salute, cried "Bon voyage!" andscuttled clear like a startled rooster before a motor-car. And themotor and propeller broke loose with a mighty roar comparable only, inLanyard's fancy, to the chant of ten thousand rivetting locusts. 

He felt momentarily as if his ear-drums must burst with the incessantand tremendous concussions registered upon them; but presently thissensation passed, leaving him with that of permanent deafness. 

Before he could recover and regain control of his startled wits theaviator had thrown down a lever, and the great fabric was in motion. 

It swept down the field like a frightened swan; and the wheels of itschassis, registering every infinitesimal irregularity in the surface ofthe ground, magnified them all a hundred-fold. It was like riding in atumbril driven at top-speed over the Giant's Causeway. Lanyard wasshaken violently to the very marrow of his bones; he believed that evenhis eyes must be rattling in their sockets.... 

Then the Parrott began to ascend. Singularly enough, this change wasmarked, at first, by no more than slight lessening of the vibration:still the machine seemed to be dashing over a cobbled thoroughfare atbreakneck speed; and Lanyard found it difficult to appreciate that theywere afloat, even when he looked down and discovered a hundred feet ofspace between himself and the practice-field. 

In another breath they were soaring over housetops. 

Momentarily, now, the shocks became less frequent. And presently theyceased almost altogether, to be repeated only at rare intervals, whenthe drift of air opposing the planes developed irregularities in itsvelocity. There succeeded, in contrast, the sublimest peace; even theroaring of the propeller dwindled to a sustained drone; the biplaneseemed to float without an effort upon a vast, still sea, flawed onlyoccasionally by inconsiderable ripples. 

Still rising, they surprised the earliest rays of the sun; and in theirvirgin light the aeroplane was transformed into a thing of gossamer gold. 

Continually the air buffeted their faces like a flood of icy water. 

Below, the scroll of the world unrolled like some vast and intricatelyilluminated missal, or like some strange mosaic, marvellously minute.... 

Lanyard could see the dial of the compass, fixed to a strut on thepilot's left. By that telltale their course lay nearly due northeast. Already the weltering roofs of Paris were in sight, to the right, the Eiffel Tower spearing up like a fairy pillar of gold lace-work, the Seine looping the cluttered acres like a sleek brown serpent, theSacré-Coeur a dream-palace of opalescent walls. 

Versailles broke the horizon to port and slipped astern. Paris closedup, telescoped its panorama, became a mere blur, a smoky smudge. Butit was long before the distance eclipsed that admonitory finger ofthe Eiffel. 

Vauquelin manipulating the levers, the plane tilted its nose and swamhigher and yet higher. The song of the motor dropped an octave to aricher tone. The speed was sensibly increased. 

Lanyard contemplated with untempered wonder the fact of his equanimity:there seemed nothing at all strange in this extraordinary experience;he was by no means excited, remained merely if deeply interested. Andhe could detect in his physical sensations no trace of that qualmishdread he always experienced in high places: the sense he had ofsecurity, of solidity, was and ever remained wholly unaccountable inhis understanding. 

Of a sudden, surprised by a touch on his arm, he turned to see throughthe mica windows of the wind-mask the eyes of the aviator informed withimportunate doubt. Infinitely mystified and so an easy prey tosickening fear lest something were going wrong with the machine, Lanyard shook his head to indicate lack of comprehension. With animpatient gesture the aviator pointed downward. Appreciating the factthat speech was impossible, Lanyard clutched the struts and bentforward. But the pace was now so fast and their elevation so great thatthe landscape swimming beneath his vision was no more than a brownishplain fugitively maculated with blots of contrasting colour. 

He looked up blankly, but only to be treated to the same gesture. 

Piqued, he concentrated attention more closely upon the flat, streaminglandscape. And suddenly he recognized something oddly familiar in anapproaching bend of the Seine. 

"St. -Germain-en-Laye!" he exclaimed with a start of alarm. 

This was the danger point.... 

"And over there, " he reminded himself--"to the left--that wide fieldwith a queer white thing in the middle that looks like a wingedgrub--that must be De Morbiban's aerodrome and his Valkyr monoplane!Are they bringing it out? Is that what Vauquelin means? And if so--whatof it? I don't see ... "

Suddenly doubt and wonder chilled the adventurer. 

Temporarily Vauquelin returned entire attention to the management ofthe biplane. The wind was now blowing more fitfully, creatingpockets--those holes in the air so dreaded by cloud pilots--and inquest of more constant resistance the aviator was swinging his craft in a wide northerly curve, climbing ever higher and more high. 

The earth soon lost all semblance of design; even the twisted silverwire of the Seine vanished, far over to the left; remained only theeffect of firm suspension in that high blue vault, of a continuous lowof iced water in the face, together with the tuneless chanting of themotor. 

After some forty minutes of this--it may have been an hour, for timewas then an incalculable thing--Lanyard, in a mood of abnormalsensitiveness, began to divine additional disquiet in the mind of theaviator, and stared until he caught his eye. 

"What is it?" he screamed in futile effort to lift his voice above thedin. 

But the Frenchman understood, and responded with a sweep of his armtoward the horizon ahead. And seeing nothing but cloud in the quarterindicated, Lanyard grasped the nature of a phenomenon which, from thefirst, had been vaguely troubling him. The reason why he had been ableto perceive no real rim to the world was that the earth was all a-steamfrom the recent heavy rains; all the more remote distances were veiledwith rising vapour. And now they were approaching the coast, to which, it seemed, the mists clung closest; for all the world before them sleptbeneath a blanket of dull grey. 

Nor was it difficult now to understand why the aviator was ill at easefacing the prospect of navigating a Channel fog. 

Several minutes later, he startled Lanyard with another peremptorytouch on his arm followed by a significant glance over his shoulder. 

Lanyard turned quickly. 

Behind them, at a distance which he calculated roughly as two miles, the silhouette of a monoplane hung against the brilliant firmament, resembling, with its single spread of wings, more a solitary, soaringgull than any man-directed mechanism. 

Only an infrequent and almost imperceptible shifting of the wingsproved that it was moving. 

He watched it for several seconds, in deepening perplexity and anxiety, finding it impossible to guess whether it were gaining or losing inthat long chase, or who might be its pilot. 

Yet he had little doubt but that the pursuing machine had risen fromthe aerodrome of Count Remy de Morbihan at St. -Germain-en-Laye; that itwas nothing less, in fact, than De Morbihan's Valkyr, reputed thefastest monoplane in Europe and winner of a dozen International events;and that it was guided, if not by De Morbihan himself, by one of thecreatures of the Pack--quite possibly, even more probably, by Ekstrom!

But--assuming all this--what evil could such pursuit portend? In whatconceivable manner could the Pack reckon to further its ends bycommissioning the monoplane to overtake or distance the Parrott? Theycould not hinder the escape of Lanyard and Lucy Shannon to England inany way, by any means reasonably to be imagined. 

Was this simply one more move to keep the pair under espionage? Butthat might more readily have been accomplished by telegraphing ortelephoning the Pack's confreres, Wertheimer's associates in England!

Lanyard gave it up, admitting his inability to trump up any sane excusefor such conduct; but the riddle continued to fret his mind withoutrespite. 

From the first, from that moment when Lucy's disappearance had requiredpostponement of this flight, he had feared trouble; it hadn't seemedreasonable to hope that the Parrott could be held in waiting on hisconvenience for many days without the secret leaking out; but it wastrouble to develop before the start from Port Aviation that he hadanticipated. The possibility that the Pack would be able to work anymischief to him, after that, had never entered his calculations. Evennow he found it difficult to give it serious consideration. 

Again he glanced back. Now, in his judgment, the monoplane loomedlarger than before against the glowing sky, indicating that it wasovertaking them. 

Beneath his breath Lanyard swore from a brimming heart. 

The Parrott was capable of a speed of eighty miles an hour; andunquestionably Vauquelin was wheedling every ounce of power out of itswilling motor. Since drawing Lanyard's attention to the pursuer he hadbrought about appreciable acceleration. 

But would even that pace serve to hold the Valkyr if not to distance it?

His next backward look reckoned the monoplane no nearer. 

And another thirty minutes or go elapsed without the relative positionsof the two flying machines undergoing any perceptible change. 

In the course of this period the Parrott rose to an altitude, indicatedby the barograph at Lanyard's elbow, of more than half a mile. Below, the Channel fog spread itself out like a sea of milk, slowly churning. 

Staring down in fascination, Lanyard told himself gravely: "Blue water below that, my friend!"

It seemed difficult to credit the fact that they had made the flightfrom Paris in so short a time. 

By his reckoning--a very rough one--the Parrott was then somewhere offDieppe: it ought to pick up England, in such case, not far fromBrighton. If only one could see... !

By bending forward a little and staring past the aviator Lanyard couldcatch a glimpse of Lucy Shannon. 

Though all her beauty and grace of person were lost in the clumsyswaddling of her makeshift costume, she seemed to be comfortableenough; and the rushing air, keen with the chill of that greataltitude, moulded her wind-veil precisely to the exquisite contours ofher face and stung her firm cheeks until they glowed with a rare firethat even that thick dark mesh could not wholly quench. 

The sun crept above the floor of mist, played upon it with iridescentrays, shot it through and through with a warm, pulsating glow like thatof a fire opal, and suddenly turned it to a tumbled sea of gold which, apparently boundless, baffled every effort to surmise their position, whether they were above land or sea. 

None the less Lanyard's rough and rapid calculations persuaded him thatthey were then about Mid-Channel. 

He had no more than arrived at this conclusion when a sharp, startledmovement, that rocked the planes, drew his attention to the man athis side. 

Glancing in alarm at the aviator's face, he saw it as white asmarble--what little of it was visible beyond and beneath the wind-mask. 

Vauquelin was holding out an arm, and staring at it incredulously;Lanyard's gaze was drawn to the same spot--a ragged perforation in thesleeve of the pilot's leather surtout, just above the elbow. 

"What is it?" he enquired stupidly, again forgetting that he could notbe heard. 

The eyes of the aviator, lifting from the perforation to meet Lanyard'sstare, were clouded with consternation. 

Then Vauquelin turned quickly and looked back. Simultaneously he duckedhis head and something slipped whining past Lanyard's cheek, touchinghis flesh with a touch more chill than that of the icy air itself. 

"Damnation!" he shrieked, almost hysterically. "That madman in theValkyr is firing at us!"

XXVI

THE FLYING DEATH

Steadying himself with a splendid display of self-control and sheercourage, Captain Vauquelin concentrated upon the management of thebiplane. 

The drone of its motor thickened again, its speed became greater, andthe machine began to rise still higher, tracing a long, graceful curve. 

Lanyard glanced apprehensively toward the girl, but apparently sheremained unconscious of anything out of the ordinary. Her face wasstill turned forward, and still the wind-veil trembled against herglowing cheeks. 

Thanks to the racket of the motor, no audible reports had accompaniedthe sharp-shooting of the man in the monoplane; while Lanyard's cry ofhorror and dismay had been audible to himself exclusively. Hearingnothing, Lucy suspected nothing. 

Again Lanyard looked back. 

Now the Valkyr seemed to have crept up to within the quarter of a mileof the biplane, and was boring on at a tremendous pace, its singlespread of wings on an approximate level with that of the lower plane ofthe Parrott. 

But this last was rising steadily.... 

The driver's seat of the Valkyr held a muffled, burly figure that mightbe anybody--De Morbihan, Ekstrom, or any other homicidal maniac. At thedistance its actions were as illegible as their results wereunquestionable: Lanyard saw a little tongue of flame lick out from apoint close beside the head of the figure--he couldn't distinguish thefirearm itself--and, like Vauquelin, quite without premeditation, heducked. 

At the same time there sounded a harsh, ripping noise immediately abovehis head; and he found himself staring up at a long ragged tear in thecanvas, caused by the bullet striking it aslant. 

"What's to be done?" he screamed passionately at Vauquelin. 

The aviator shook his head impatiently; and they continued to ascend;already the web of gold that cloaked earth and sea seemed thrice as farbeneath their feet as it had when Vauquelin made the appallingdiscovery of his bullet-punctured sleeve. 

But the monoplane was doggedly following suit; as the Parrott rose, sodid the Valkyr, if a trace more slowly and less flexibly. 

Lanyard had read somewhere, or heard it said, that monoplanes were poormachines for climbing. He told himself that, if this were true, Vauquelin knew his business; and from this reflection drew what comforthe might. 

And he was glad, very glad of the dark wind-veil that shrouded his face, which he believed to be nothing less than a mask of panic terror. 

He was, in fact, quite rigid with fright and horror. It were idle toargue that only unlikely chance would wing one of the bullets from theValkyr to a vital point: there was the torn canvas overhead, there wasthat hole through Vauquelin's sleeve.... 

And then the barograph on the strut beside Lanyard disappeared as if bymagic. He was aware of a slight jar; the framework of the biplanequivered as from a heavy blow; something that resembled a handful ofblack crumbs sprayed out into the air ahead and vanished: and where theinstrument had been, nothing remained but an iron clamp gripping thestrut. 

And even as any one of these bullets might have proved fatal, theirfirst successor might disable the aviator if it did not slay himoutright; in either case, the inevitable result would be deathfollowing a fall from a height, as recorded on the barograph dial aninstant before its destruction, of more than four thousand feet. 

They were still climbing.... 

Now the pursuer was losing some of the advantage of his superior speed;the Parrott was perceptibly higher; the Valkyr must needs mount in amore sweeping curve. 

None the less, Lanyard, peering down, saw still another tongue of flamespit out at him; and two bullet-holes appeared in the port-side wingsof the biplane, one in the lower, one in the upper spread of canvas. 

White-lipped and trembling, the adventurer began to work at thefastenings of his surtout. After a moment he plucked off one of hisgloves and cast it impatiently from him. A-sprawl, it sailed down thewind like a wounded sparrow. He caught Vauquelin's eye upon him, quickwith a curiosity which changed to a sudden gleam of comprehension asLanyard, thrusting his hand under the leather coat, groped for hispocket and produced an automatic pistol which Ducroy had pressed uponhis acceptance. 

They were now perhaps a hundred feet higher than the Valkyr, which wassoaring a quarter of a mile off to starboard. Under the guidance of theFrenchman, the Parrott swooped round in a narrow circle until it hungalmost immediately above the other--a manoeuvre requiring, first andlast, something more than five minutes to effect. 

Meanwhile, Lanyard rebuttoned his surtout and clutched the pistol, trying hard not to think. But already his imagination was sick withthe thought of what would ensue when the time came for him to carryout his purpose. 

Vauquelin touched his arm with urgent pressure; but Lanyard only shookhis head, gulped, and without looking surrendered the weapon to theaviator.... 

Bearing heavily against the chest-band, he commanded the broad whitespread of the Valkyr's back and wings. Invisible beneath these hungthe motor and driver's seat. 

An instant more, and he was aware that Vauquelin was leaning forwardand looking down. 

Aiming with what deliberation was possible, the aviator emptied theclip of its eight cartridges in less than a minute. 

The vicious reports rang out against the drum of the motor like thecracking of a blacksnake-whip. 

Momentarily, Lanyard doubted if any one bullet had taken effect. Hecould not, with his swimming vision, detect sign of damage in thecanvas of the Valkyr. 

He saw the empty automatic slip from Vauquelin'p numb and nervelessfingers. It vanished.... 

A frightful fascination kept his gaze constant to the soaring Valkyr. 

Beyond it, down, deep down a mile of emptiness, was that golden floorof tumbled cloud, waiting ... 

He saw the monoplane check abruptly in its strong onward surge--as ifit had run, full-tilt, head-on, against an invisible obstacle--and forwhat seemed a round minute it hung so, veering and wobbling, nuzzlingthe wind. Then like a sounding whale it turned and dived headlong, propeller spinning like a top. 

Down through the eighth of a mile of space it plunged plummet-like;then, perhaps caught in a flaw of wind, it turned sideways and began torevolve, at first slowly, but with increasing rapidity in its fatallyswift descent. 

Toward the beginning of its revolutions, something was thrown off, something small, dark and sprawling ... Like that glove which Lanyardhad discarded. But this object dropped with a speed even greater thanthat of the Valkyr, in a brace of seconds had diminished to theproportions of a gnat, in another was engulfed in that vast sea ofgolden vapour. 

Even so the monoplane itself, scarcely less precipitate, spun downthrough the abyss and plunged to oblivion in the fog-rack.... 

And Lanyard was still hanging against the chest-band, limp and spentand trying not to vomit, when, of a sudden and without any warningwhatever, the stentorian chant of the motor ceased and was blotted upby that immense silence, by the terrible silence of those vastsolitudes of the upper air, where never a sound is heard save thevoices of the elements at war among themselves: a silence that rangwith an accent as dreadful as the crack of Doom in the ears of thosethree suspended there, in the heart of that unimaginably pellucid andimmaculate radiance, in the vast hollow of the heavens, midway betweenthe deep blue of the eternal dome and the rose and golden welter of thefog--that fog which, cloaking earth and sea, hid as well every vestigeof the tragedy they had wrought, every sign of the murder that they haddone that they themselves might not be murdered and cast down todestruction. 

And, its propeller no longer gripping the air, the aeroplane drifted onat ever-lessening speed, until it had no way whatever and restedwithout motion of any sort; as it might have been in the cup of somemighty and invisible hand, held up to that stark and merciless light, under the passionless eye of the Infinite, to await a Judgment.... 

Then, with a little shudder of hesitation, the planes dipped, inclinedslightly earthwards, and began slowly and as if reluctantly to slipdown the long and empty channels of the air. 

At this, rousing, Lanyard became aware of his own voice yammeringwildly at Vauquelin:

"Good God, man! Why did you do that?"

Vauquelin answered only with a pale grimace and a barely perceptibleshrug. 

Momentarily gathering momentum, the biplane sped downward with aresistless rush, with the speed of a great wind--a speed so great thatwhen Lanyard again attempted speech, the breath was whipped from hislips and he could utter no sound. 

Thus from that awful height, from the still heart of that immeasurablevoid, they swept down and ever down, in a long series of sickeningswoops, broken only by negligible pauses. And though they approached iton a long slant, the floor of vapour rose to meet them like a mightyrushing wave: in a trice the biplane was hovering instantaneouslybefore plunging on down into that cold, grey world of fog. 

In that moment of hesitation, while still the adventurer gasped forbreath and pawed at his streaming eyes with an aching hand, piercedthrough and through with cold, the fog showed itself as something lesssubstantial than it had seemed; blurs of colour glowed through itsfolds of gauze, and with these the rounded summit of a brownish, knoll. 

Then they plunged on, down out of the bleak, bright sunshine into cooltwilight depths of clinging vapours; and the good green earth liftedits warm bosom to receive them. 

Tilting its nose a trifle, fluttering as though undecided, the Parrottsettled gracefully, with scarcely a Jar, upon a wide sweep of untilledland covered with short coarse grass. 

For some time the three remained in their perches like petrified things, quite moveless and--with the possible exception of the aviator--hardlyconscious. 

But presently Lanyard became aware that he was regularly filling hislungs with air sweet, damp, wholesome, and by comparison warm, and thatthe blood was tingling painfully in his half-frozen hands and feet. 

He sighed as one waking from a strange dream. 

At the same time the aviator bestirred himself, and began a bit stifflyto climb down. 

Feeling the earth beneath his feet, he took a step or two away from themachine, reeling and stumbling like a drunken man, then turned back. 

"Come, my friend!" he urged Lanyard in a voice of strangely normalintonation--"look alive--if you're able--and lend me a hand withmademoiselle. I'm afraid she has fainted. "

The girl was reclining inertly in the bands of webbing, her eyes closed, her lips ajar, her limbs slackened. 

"Small blame to her!" Lanyard commented, fumbling clumsily with thechest-band. "That dive was enough to drive a body mad!"

"But I had to do it!" the aviator protested earnestly. "I dared notremain longer up there. I have never before been afraid in the air, butafter _that_ I was terribly afraid. I could feel myself going--takingleave of my senses--and I knew I must act if we were not to follow thatother... God! what a death!"

He paused, shuddered, and drew the back of his hand across his eyesbefore continuing: "So I cut off the ignition and volplaned. Here--myhand. So-o! All right, eh?"

"Oh, I'm all right, " Lanyard insisted confidently. 

But his confidence was belied by a look of daze; for the earth wasbillowing and reeling round him as though bewitched; and before he knewwhat had happened he sat down hard and stared foolishly up at the aviator. 

"Here!" said the latter courteously, his wind-mask hiding a smile--"myhand again, monsieur. You've endured more than you know. And now formademoiselle. "

But when they approached the girl, she surprised both by shivering, sitting up, and obviously pulling herself together. 

"You feel better now, mademoiselle?" Vauquelin enquired, hastening toloosen her fastenings. 

"I'm better--yes, thank you, " she admitted in a small, brokenvoice--"but not yet quite myself. "

She gave a hand to the aviator, the other to Lanyard, and as theyhelped her to the ground, Lanyard, warned by his experience, stood bywith a ready arm. 

She needed that support, and for a few minutes didn't seem evenconscious of it. Then gently disengaging, she moved a foot or two away. 

"Where are we--do you know?"

"On the South Downs, somewhere?" Lanyard suggested, consultingVauquelin. 

"That is probable, " this last affirmed--"at all events, judging fromthe course I steered. Somewhere well in from the coast, at a venture;I don't hear the sea. "

"Near Lewes, perhaps?"

"I have no reason to doubt that. "

A constrained pause ensued. The girl looked from the aviator to Lanyard, then turned away from both and, trembling with fatigue and enforcingself-control by clenching her hands, stared aimlessly off into the mist. 

Painfully, Lanyard set himself to consider their position. 

The Parrott had come to rest in what seemed to be a wide, shallow, saucer-like depression, whose irregular bounds were cloaked in fog. Inthis space no living thing stirred save themselves; and the waste wascrossed by not so much as a sheep track. In brief, they were lost. There might be a road running past the saucer ten yards from its brimin any quarter. There might not. Possibly there was a town or villageimmediately adjacent. Quite as possibly the Downs billowed away fordesolate miles on either hand. 

"Well--what do we do now?" the girl demanded suddenly, in a nervousvoice, sharp and jarring. 

"Oh, we'll find a way out of this somehow, " Vauquelin assertedconfidently. "England isn't big enough for anybody to remain lost init--not for long, at all events. I'm sorry only on Miss Shannon'saccount. "

"We'll manage, somehow, " Lanyard affirmed stoutly. 

The aviator smiled curiously. "To begin with, " he advanced, "I daresaywe might as well get rid of these awkward costumes. They'll hamperwalking--rather. "

In spite of his fatigue Lanyard was so struck by the circumstances thathe couldn't help remarking it as he tore off his wind-veil. 

"Your English is remarkably good, Captain Vauquelin, " he observed. 

The other laughed shortly. 

"Why not?" said he, removing his mask. 

Lanyard looked up into his face, stared, and fell back a pace. 

"Wertheimer!" he gasped. 

XXVII

DAYBREAK

The Englishman smiled cheerfully in response to Lanyard's cry ofastonishment. 

"In effect, " he observed, stripping off his gauntlets, "you're right, Mr. Lanyard. 'Wertheimer' isn't my name, but it is so closelyidentified with my--ah--insinuative personality as to warrant themisapprehension. I shan't demand an apology so long as you permit me topreserve an incognito which may yet prove somewhat useful. "

"Incognito!" Lanyard stammered, utterly discountenanced. "Useful!"

"You have my meaning exactly; although my work in Paris is now ended, there's no saying when it may not be convenient to be able to go backwithout establishing a new identity. "

Before Lanyard replied to this the look of wonder in his eyes hadyielded to one of understanding. 

"Scotland Yard, eh?" he queried curtly. 

Wertheimer bowed. "Special agent, " he added. 

"I might have guessed, if I'd had the wit of a goose!" Lanyard affirmedbitterly. "But I must admit... "

"Yes, " the Englishman assented pleasantly; "I did pull your leg--didn'tI? But not more than our other friends. Of course, it's taken sometime: I had to establish myself firmly as a shining light of the swellmob over here before De Morbihan would take me to his hospitable bosom. "

"I presume I'm to consider myself under arrest?"

With a laugh, the Englishman shook his head vigorously. 

"No, thank you!" he declared. "I've had too convincing proof of yourdistaste for interference in your affairs. You fight too sincerely, Mr. Lanyard--and I'm a tired sleuth this very morning as ever was! Iwould need a week's rest to fit me for the job of taking you intocustody--a week and some able-bodied assistance!... But, " he amendedwith graver countenance, "I will say this: if you're in England a weekhence, I'll be tempted to undertake the job on general principles. Idon't in the least question the sincerity of your intention to behaveyourself hereafter; but as a servant of the King, it's my duty toadvise you that England would prefer you to start life anew--as theysay--in another country. Several steamers sail for the States beforethe end of the week: further details I leave entirely to yourdiscretion. But go you must, " he concluded firmly. 

"I understand... " said Lanyard; and would have said more, but couldn't. There was something suspiciously like a mist before his eyes. 

Avoiding the faces of his sweetheart and the Englishman, he turnedaside, put forth a hand blindly to a wing of the biplane to steadyhimself, and stood with head bowed and limbs trembling. 

Moving quietly to his side, the girl took his other hand and held ittight.... 

Presently Lanyard shook himself impatiently and lifted his head again. 

"Sorry, " he said, apologetic--"but your generosity--when I looked fornothing better than arrest--was a bit too much for my nerves!"

"Nonsense!" the Englishman commented with brusque good-humour. "We'reall upset. A drop of brandy will do us no end of good. "

Unbuttoning his leather surtout, he produced a flask from an innerpocket, filled its metal cup, and offered it to the girl. 

"You first, if you please, Miss Shannon. No--I insist. You positivelyneed it. "

She allowed herself to be persuaded, drank, coughed, gasped, andreturned the cup, which Wertheimer promptly refilled and passed toLanyard. 

The raw spirits stung like fire, but proved an instant aid to the badlyjangled nerves of the adventurer. In another moment he was much morehimself. 

Drinking in turn, Wertheimer put away the flask. "That's better!" hecommented. "Now I'll be able to cut along with this blessed machinewithout fretting over the fate of Ekstrom. But till now I haven't beenable to forget----"

He paused and drew a hand across his eyes. 

"It was, then, Ekstrom--you think?" Lanyard demanded. 

"Unquestionably! De Morbihan had learned--I know--of your bargain withDucroy; and I know, too, that he and Ekstrom spent each morning in thehangars at St. Germain, after your sensational evasion. It neverentered my head, of course, that they had any such insane schemebrewing as that--else I would never have so giddily arranged withDucroy--through the Sûreté, you understand--to take Vauquelin'splace.... Besides, who else could it have been? Not De Morbihan, forhe's crippled for life, thanks to that affair in the Bois; notPopinot, who was on his way to the Santé, last I saw of him; and neverBannon--he was dead before I left Paris for Port Aviation. "

"Dead!"

"Oh, quite!" the Englishman affirmed nonchalantly, "When we arrestedhim at three this morning--charged with complicity in the murder ofRoddy--he flew into a passion that brought on a fatal haemorrhage. Hedied within ten minutes. "

There was a little silence.... 

"I may tell you, Mr. Lanyard, " the Englishman resumed, looking up fromthe motor, to which he was paying attentions with monkey-wrench andoil-can, "that you were quite off your bat when you ridiculed the ideaof the 'International Underworld Unlimited. ' Of course, if you _hadn't_laughed, I shouldn't feel quite as much respect for you as I do; infact, the chances are you'd be in handcuffs or in a cell of the Santé, this very minute.... But, absurd as it sounded--and was--the'Underworld' project was a pet hobby of Bannon's--who'd been the brainsof a gang of criminals in New York for many years. He was a bit touchedon the subject: a monomaniac, if you ask me. And his enthusiasm won DeMorbihan and Popinot over ... And me! He took a wonderful fancy to me, Bannon did; I really was appointed first-lieutenant in Greggs'stead.... So you first won my sympathy by laughing at my offer, " saidWertheimer, restoring the oil-can to its place in the tool-kit;"wherein you were very wise.... In fact, my personal feeling for you isone of growing esteem, if you'll permit me to say so. You've most ofthe makings of a man. Will you shake hands--with a copper's nark?"

He gave Lanyard's hand a firm and friendly grasp, and turned to the girl. 

"Good-bye, Miss Shannon. I'm truly grateful for the assistance you gaveus. Without you, we'd have been sadly handicapped. I understand you havesent in your resignation? It's too bad: the Service will feel the lossof you. But I think you were right to leave us, the circumstancesconsidered.... And now it's good-bye and good luck! I hope you may behappy.... I'm sure you can't go far without coming across a highroad ora village; but--for reasons not unconnected with my profession--I preferto remain in ignorance of the way you go. "

Releasing her hand, he stepped back, saluted the lovers with a smileand gay gesture, and clambered briskly to the pilot's seat of thebiplane. 

When firmly established, he turned the switch of the starting mechanism. 

The heavy, distinctive hum of the great motor filled that isolatedhollow in the Downs like the purring of a dynamo. 

With a final wave of his hand, Wertheimer grasped the starting-lever. 

Its _brool_ deepening, the Parrott stirred, shot forward abruptly. Intwo seconds it was fifty yards distant, its silhouette already blurred, its wheels lifting from the rim of the hollow. 

Then lightly it leaped, soared, parted the mists, vanished.... 

For some time Lanyard and Lucy Shannon remained motionless, clingingtogether, hand-in-hand, listening to the drone that presently dwindledto a mere thread of sound and died out altogether in the obscurityabove them. 

Then, turning, they faced each other, smiling a trace uncertainly, asmile that said: "So all that is finished! ... Or, perhaps, we dreamedit!"... 

Suddenly, with a low cry, the girl gave herself to Lanyard's arms; andas this happened the mists parted and bright sunlight flooded thehollow in the Downs. 

THE END