The Closing Net by Henry C. Rowland Page2

My friend, now what do you think of that? Just before John came into my office I doubt if there was a happier man in Paris than I. The minute after, I don't believe there was a more miserable one, or a madder. For quick as a flash I guessed at what had happened, and I cursed myself for a fool not to have thought of it before.

I ripped out a savage curse. It was as plain to me as a pock-marked Hottentot. That accursed Chu-Chu had gone back the second night on his own account and opened the safe. A little box like that would be a nursery puzzle to an expert like Chu-Chu. No doubt he considered this job his own private affair, but it was barely possible that he might have turned over the string to Ivan.

"Oh, because," I answered, wearily, "the first was an official, what you might call syndicate, job. The second is a little private enterprise on the part of the operator. Or, at least, it looks to me like that. However, I'll do my best. You'd better go back to the house and give Miss Dalghren her pearls, and tell her for Heaven's sake to put 'em in a safe place. It's all my fault, I know. I should have cleared out, like I wanted to, and all of this wouldn't have happened."

"I can't tell you what I don t know," I answered. "If Edith's pearls are turned in at headquarters the chief will be just as much surprised as I and hand them over without a word. He's not the man to do things by halves. But if the thief has held back the pearls the chances are that that's the last we'll ever see of them. The string would be so broken up as to make it almost impossible to trace. Anyway, considering what you have done in getting me off, the police would hardly take up the case. Your friend the prefect would shrug his shoulders and ask what the deuce you expected."

Ivan made an impatient gesture with his hand. "It is all of the same piece," he snapped. "On your account, that house is exempt from our affairs. If Chu-Chu has stolen those pearls he has disobeyed orders, and in that case he may take his choice between handing over the pearls to you or severing all connection with me. He will probably prefer the former. My organisation is worth more to him than even so valuable a necklace of pearls. But if by any chance he should decide on the latter, then, my dear Mr. Clamart, you will have to arrange matters with Chu-Chu. I am not given to half-measures, and having decided on my course of action I will carry it out. But there is a limit to my authority. If you care to wait I will show you into the library, and if Chu-Chu comes here you may talk to him yourself. He is coming this morning as I have some other matters to discuss with him."

But I did not read. What Ivan had just said left me with plenty of intellectual food. It was possible, I thought, that he might suspect me of having other ammunition in my magazine than a mere appeal to his sense of fair-dealing, and it occurred to me that if this suspicion bordered on the conviction that I might threaten to expose the gang, the odds were against my getting out of his house alive.

This danger was one that would be increased a thousand times by the arrival of Chu-Chu. Chu-Chu le Tondeur, or M. de Maxeville, as he called himself, was known to the Under-World as being the ablest thief in Europe. His specialty was bank work, usually in the provinces, and his safe opening skill was something marvellous. The most intricate combinations in his sensitive fingers were about as difficult as a game of diabolo. Personally, I detested everything about the man. He was a constitutional assassin. Chu-Chu, the odds being even, would rather kill than not. His favourite weapon was the slung-shot, but he was said to be a man of terrific strength and not long before had killed an agent by a blow on the head with a coup de poing Americain, as they call brass knuckles in France, where, as a matter of fact, they are ten times as much in use as at home. Chu-Chu left a trail of blood behind him wherever he worked. The man had the ingenuity of a Yankee, the cold courage of an Anglo-Saxon, the stealth of a Frenchman, and the remorselessness of a Spaniard. I doubt if there lived a more dangerous enemy to Society. He was a well-educated man, handsome, polished, a brilliant conversationalist, absolutely abstemious in his habits. His reputation with his pals was bad, however, and not many thieves cared to work with him.

As the case stood, Ivan had played his game cleverly. Whether he suspected me of daring to lay evidence with the police or not, he had avoided bringing things to a crisis by giving me Miss Daljghren's pearls on my simple protest. But in disclaiming all knowledge of the theft of Edith's pearls and promising to restore them if possible, he had passed the affair up to Chu-Chu. I felt sure that Chu-Chu would deny all knowledge of the matter and that Ivan would, also. But I felt equally sure that the pearls were at that very moment in Chu-Chu's possession. In this case, he had flatly disobeyed the orders of the Chief.

Now, if Ivan were to say nothing about my having charged Chu-Chu with the job, but waited for Chu-Chu to bring up the subject himself, I felt pretty sure that he would have to wait a long time. If, on the contrary, he brought up the subject at once, Chu-Chu might either deny everything or else admit having stolen the pearls and hand them over. Ivan had no wish to quarrel with Chu-Chu. He might want to break with him, but he would prefer to do this peacefully. If he were to get the pearls I thought it very possible that he would deny the fact to me just the same, rather than risk an open quarrel with Chu-Chu. Then, feeling that I might take the matter to the prefect of police, it was very possible that he would feel himself unfortunately compelled to put me out of permanent action. And I knew that in this he would find an enthusiastic ally in Chu-Chu.

Therefore, as the thing framed up, it appeared that I stood no chance of getting the pearls, whether Chu-Chu owned up or not, but I did stand a good chance of losing my life. Then why didn't I get out of the house while there was still time? For the simple reason that I had gone there after the pearls, and I meant to have them.

Now, it may not look so at first glance, but as a matter of fact the odds were a bit with me. How? It's easy enough. Ivan might know what Chu-Chu would do and Chu-Chu might know what Ivan would do, and I had a darn good idea of what both of them would do. But neither of them knew what I was going to do, and I did. It would never have occurred to their European minds. Your American crook would have thought of it first jump; not that he's keener, but because my plan was the American plan. This was merely to hold them both up before they had a chance to guess at what was coming.

Perhaps that sounds too easy to you, because you are American yourself. But let me explain. Every race has its own method of violence. The Oriental loves poison and slaves behind arras and all that sort of thing in settling misunderstandings. The Teuton likes a duel, the Latin races a knife or stiletto—all good enough in their way and plenty efficient, but all, if you observe, requiring time. Whether to gloat or to sneer or to think it over, all of these older races want a little time before killing. And that is exactly what your Anglo-Saxon hates. He is apt to kill right off the bat or let t go. A word, a blow, bang—and there you are.

The difference is that Europeans and Orientals, while they like the killing well enough, dislike the violence. They shrink from the rough word, the crudeness of the caveman. They want art, and for that reason a sudden outburst on the part of the Westerner always comes to the Easterner with a sort of shock of surprise. In that atmosphere of luxury and refinement I could feel it myself. Sitting there in Ivan's handsome library and looking at his fine old vellum and Louis XVI chairs and Bokhara rugs it seemed like a hideously rough and impolite play on my part to walk into the next room and stick up those two cultured and refined gentlemen, the one titled and the other decorated. But I made up my mind to do it, just the same; yes, and to turn that Empire-furnished bureau de travail into an Arizona bar-room shambles at the first shady move, adding the maître d'hôtel to the bull-pit and any other loose jokers that saw fit to bulge in. It really was simple enough. I can shoot quick and straight and I had nothing much to fear from the result. When it came to a show down my friend the prefect would be only too glad that I d taken the job off his hands. Chu-Chu's working name was known all over France, and his performances hadn't added a whole lot of lustre to the records of the Police Department. Besides, European thugs have a way of following up old scores owed by their deceased members, especially with the minions of the law.

"Chu—M. de Maxeville is here," said Ivan. "He denies all knowledge of Mrs. Cuttynge's pearls. In fact, he has managed to convince me that he is telling the truth. As it is, he is very angry because I gave back the other string to you. I have told him that you are here and he insists that you come in and make your charges yourself. Do you care to do so?"

Chu-chu le Tondeur, alias M. de Maxeville, was a distinguished-looking man of medium height, but very broad and compactly made. In his long black redingote and narrow French trousers one would never have guessed the heavy bone and muscle underneath. His face, though scarcely to be called handsome, was intelligent, and, in a way, attractive, being forceful and wearing an habitually pleasant expression. Indeed, one of his nicknames was "l' homme qui sourit." Chu-Chu was usually smiling. He went about the streets with the hint of a smile on his face. He may have trained himself to wear this pleased expression, which is, after all, a fairly good mask. One hardly looks for a recent murderer going about with a pleasant smile on his lips.

Chu-Chu dressed with the quiet elegance which might be expected of a senator, and when he spoke his bass voice was slow, quiet and pleasingly modulated. He had a curious, precise way of dragging out the ends of his words, adding almost a whole syllable to consonant endings, and this gave his conversation a hint of pedantry. He had told me at Léontine's dinner-party that his favourite recreation was big-game hunting, and that he had once, while in the Nguru country, taken part in a Masai lion hunt. You know the sport. The natives, armed with shield and spear surround the lion and then close in on him in a small circle; when he springs the hunter receives him on his assegai.

Chu-Chu opened the conversation by complimenting me upon my escape, then expressed his regret that so accomplished a colleague should quit the professional field, hinting at the same time that I would probably return to it when tired of the banality of legitimate business. He spoke in fairly good English, but with the effort of one who has learned a language by study and translates from his own tongue.

"Precisely my own idea," said Chu-Chu. "Of course, so far as you are concerned, Mr. Clamart, the situation is very different. One would never think of playing pranks upon a colleague. But, as I see it, the minute you gave up your profession you lost the right to expect or demand any other treatment than that of an outsider. As for the service which you claim to have rendered us in grappling with the agent, I, for my part, fail to acknowledge any obligation—unless it be on the part of the agent, whose life you assuredly saved. If you had not grappled with him I would have killed him myself." His slaty eyes rested on mine with a cold glitter. "I think," said he, "that our Chief is inclined to over-value your performance. Personally, Mr. Clamart, at the present moment or later, I would not feel the slightest compunction at robbing you, yourself. I marvel at your effrontery in coming here to demand those pearls from the Chief, and I marvel still more at his so far yielding to an unwarranted sentiment as to give them up. If anybody has been wronged it seems to me that I am that person. As for the other pearls, I very deeply regret that somebody else should have got them. I had hoped to do that job myself."

I glanced at Ivan. His face was pale and his eyes lurid. It flashed across my mind that Chu-Chu might have found some difficulty in obtaining his consent to my murder, and that for the purpose of proving that I was a serious danger to the band, Chu-Chu was now deliberately trying to anger me and make me show my hand. He was trying to tempt me to a threat. He wanted to make me say that if all ties between us were broken I would consider myself free to use offensive action. He saw the disbelief in my face and knew that I was convinced in my own mind that he had stolen Edith's pearls and that they were at that moment either in his or Ivan's possession. Once I made such a threat the end would come quickly. That was to be the signal for my death. It was possible that Ivan had refused to believe that I would do this, and failing to get any satisfaction, would let the matter drop. Ivan did not want my life, if it could be avoided, but if it came to a choice between that and exposure, he would no doubt act with deadly suddenness. He was sitting, as I have said, behind his desk, and the lower half of his body was hid from me. I had but little doubt but that there was a pistol in one of the hands resting in his lap, and as this crossed my mind I heard a rustle on the other side of the closed door.

My left thumb was hooked carelessly in the side pocket of my coat, and I doubted that I could get my weapon and shoot as quickly as could Ivan. Also, there was probably an armed servant behind the door. The odds were too heavy. In order to carry out my plan I would have to get Ivan out from behind his desk and without arousing his suspicion.

"One cannot deny the truth of M. de Maxeville's remarks. Of course, I am deeply disappointed. My only hope now is that after hearing what M. de Maxeville has said, you do not regret your generosity in giving back Miss Dalghren's pearls. Not one man in a thousand would have done it and you may be sure that I appreciate the act and feel very deeply grateful. M. de Maxeville has presented, the matter in quite a different light. If I had seen it in that way myself I would hardly have had the cheek to come here with the request. It is the first time that I have ever asked a favour of anybody. As for this other string of pearls, there seems to be no remedy. Owing to my peculiar position the Cuttynges cannot, of course, take the matter to the police. One can never tell; it is even possible that Cuttynge himself might have stolen his own wife's jewels. Such things have happened. I know that he has been playing baccarat and has had some heavy losses, and it is possible that he might have been tempted to the act, knowing that the blame will be placed with my ex-associates."

"As far as the first string is concerned, Mr. Clamart," said he, "I do not regret my act, in spite of M. de Maxeville's views on the matter. I feel that there was an obligation between us, and my act in returning the pearls showed my good faith. It was all Léontine's idea. As I told you, and as M. de Maxeville will tell you, I was opposed to it from the start. As to Mrs. Cuttynge's pearls, I am of precisely the same mind, and I give you my word that if I learn anything about the robbery I will do what I can to assist you."

My friend, it was worth the risk to see their faces. Of course, I wasn't studying dramatic effects at the time, and, as a matter of fact, I was almost on the point of killing them both before they had recovered from the shock enough to obey. Then up went Ivan's hands and he lurched back against his desk, actually pushed, as it seemed by the murderous force projected out of me. Chu-Chu felt it, too, for although he was frozen into stone for an instant his arms went up stiffly as his eyes met mine.

"Remember, you brute," said I, "I'd rather kill you than not. The only reason that I don't is because I believe Ivan to be playing fair and I owe him something for those pearls. But as for you, M. de Tondeur, there's a score to settle for those shoes and the handkerchief and the cigarette. Stand fast, or by G—— I'll rip your heart out." I looked at Ivan. "Turn out his pockets," I said.

Ivan obeyed. First came a wallet, then some change. Ivan laid both on the corner of the desk. Then gloves, a handkerchief, a gold pencil and pen-knife to match, and a few ordinary objects of the sort that a man carries. I began to think that the pearls were in Ivan's desk. Then, as Ivan turned inside out a hip pocket there dropped on the rug a little package of tissue-paper. It landed solidly. A snarl was wrenched from Chu-Chu.

"We will confiscate it as security against the pearls," said I. These stones are easily worth twice their value. It is no loss to you, M. de Comte, as except for me you never would have known of them. Now listen to me, both of you. I have said that I was through with theft and I mean it. I don't know where these gems came from and I care less, but I am going to keep them as security until you hand over the pearls. When you do that you can have the stones. I am no longer a thief, but neither am I a member of the police. Permit me to restore to M. de Tondeur his other effects. Leave them on the desk. The search has gone far enough." I looked at Ivan. "I consider that I have done you a service, monsieur," said I.

"A mere precaution against my retreat," I said, and took it out and slipped it into my pocket. "Now, gentlemen, I will wish you a good morning. Needless to say I am delighted at the way in which things have turned out, for everything goes to confirm my confidence in the fair-dealing of M. le Comte, if not in that of M. Chu-Chu. Since the latter has held back these stones, there is no reason to suppose that he has not done the same with the pearls. As soon as the latter are restored to me I will give up the gems."

Ivan had recovered his sang froid, but Chu-Chu's face was purple and blotchy and his lips were blue. He looked very sick. There is not the slightest doubt in my mind that if he had possessed a weapon of any kind he would have sprung at me and taken the chance of my bullet, in which case he would certainly have got himself killed, and probably Ivan also. For I was by no means sure that the pearls were not at that very moment in Ivan's desk. Then why did I not go through it? For two reasons. In the first place there was no need. Since I had the stones I felt sure of getting the pearls. In the second place I did not want to antagonise Ivan more than was necessary. This may sound foolish, after having held him up as I had done, but he would realise that this was forced on me in order to search Chu-Chu. Of the two Ivan would be the more dangerous enemy, having all manner of sub-workers. As things stood it seemed likely enough that he would leave Chu-Chu and myself to settle our affair between us.

As long as Chu-Chu was alive my own life was worth about two sous. From the moment that I left Ivan's house Chu-Chu's immediate and pressing business would be to settle his account with me. I had not the slightest doubt that so far as his private affairs were concerned everything would have to wait while he gave himself to a sincere and painstaking stalk of myself. I had not only deprived him of a fortune but I had disgraced and ruined him with Ivan. In fact, I was not at all sure but that he might kill Ivan with his naked hands before leaving the house, merely because the Pole had witnessed his humiliation. Thinking it over, I was sorry that I had not left Ivan his pistol, as in that case he might have disposed of Chu-Chu on his own account. You see, Chu-Chu's quarrel with an outsider was a menace to the whole mob, as many men in my position would have gone straight to the prefect of police and furnished information which might have led to the capture of Monsieur de Maxeville.

Why didn't I do that very thing? It is a little hard to explain. In the first place, anybody who has been for years a criminal hates the thought of being mixed up with the police. There are too many old crimes that may be brought to light. Then, my release from the clutch of the law was irregular; an unofficial pardon that would hardly bear the scrutiny of the public. Still again, I did not see how I could impeach Chu-Chu without implicating Ivan and his crowd, and I felt that if I was once marked for the hereafter by that perfect organisation I might just as well go down and hop off a bridge into the Seine. But last of all, I had made up my mind that the best—in fact, the only thing for me to do—was to turn all of my talent to killing Chu-Chu before Chu-Chu killed me. I would have killed him in Ivan's house if I had felt that it was possible to do so without a general rumpus. As it was, at the first shot the servants would have come running in, armed, no doubt, for Ivan's servants were all members of the gang. He had told me on the night of Léontine's dinner that his entire house hold belonged to his mob.

No, it was better as it was, dangerous as my position might be. As things now stood I felt pretty sure that I had only Chu-Chu to reckon with. Ivan would sit tight and offer up prayers that each of us might kill the other. His work was merely executive, and he detested violence as much as might the big trust magnate who sits cool and respectable in his office and robs from the masses. Only Ivan was on rather a higher plane, as he confined himself to relieving the too-rich of their plethora of wealth.

If I had still been an active member of the Under-World this feud with Chu-Chu would not have bothered me a scrap. Although I had always managed to keep on good terms with, my colleagues, such blood-quarrels had come under my observation several times, and in most cases they had reached their issue quietly and without "scandal," as one might say. Chu-Chu and I turned loose in Paris on the warpath for each other's scalps were on perfectly even terms; in fact, the advantage was, if anything, with me, as I could play a greater number of rôles than he, and, more important than that, I was not driven by sheer hate and malignity. My game would be played entirely with the head, while it was possible with Chu-Chu that emotion might lead him into taking chances.

But the trouble was that Chu-Chu belonged to the Under-World, which I had left. A man going about his business in a respectable state of Society has about as much chance of protecting himself against the preformed attack of a dangerous criminal as a stag in a deer-park would have of escaping a hunter out for its head. I knew mighty well that if I wanted to kill Chu-Chu before Chu-Chu got a chance to kill me I would have to take a dive under the surface of Society. Otherwise the odds would be those of a man swimming against a tiger-shark. So I determined to slip back into the Under-World long enough to do for Chu-Chu.

This may sound cold-blooded and ferocious to you, my friend, but you must remember that I had been a criminal for all of my life. As I have told you before, I was never one of those thugs who walk into a house with a loaded gun, ready to take life if interrupted. But I had never placed a very high value on my own life, nor on that of any other criminal. As I saw it, the law was always "off" on game of my breed. The law does not bother itself very much when it stubs its toes on a dead thief, and is generally quite content when crooks turn to and slaughter each other. And the crooks have rather accepted this liberal point of view.

Although it was known to only a few people in the Under-World that M. de Maxeville and Chu-Chu le Tondeur were the same, I thought it possible that an inquest over his corpse would bring this to light and prevent much investigation for his assassin. Whether it did or not, I certainly did not intend to sit down and twirl my thumbs and wait for Chu-Chu to bag me. Although I had reformed, my principles had not yet mounted to this lofty plane.

One thing was pretty sure, and that was that Chu-Chu would make no attempt upon my life until he had tried to swap his gems back for the pearls. At least, I did not think that he would. Chu-Chu was known to be an avaricious man and he knew that I wanted that particular pearl necklace and would be willing to sacrifice the added value of the gems to get it. I had little doubt but that I would hear from him in regard to the matter before the day was over.

Well, the game was on now and all that I could do was to play it out. On leaving Ivan's house I had turned down a street which led to the garage where I stabled our six-cylinder show-car, for John and I were to take out a client later. The garage was a big, new establishment, near the Pare Monceau and accommodated two or three hundred cars. When I got there I found that my tyres were a little soft and told a mécanicien to give me some air. He was doing this, and I standing by waiting, when I heard a voice that struck me as familiar. I looked up over the top of the tonneau, then ducked down again, for there, six paces away, stood Ivan's chauffeur; the same man who had gone with us the night that Léontine and I entered John's house, and at his elbow, his back turned to me, was Chu-Chu.

Thought I to myself, "Now what the deuce is he up to? England?" I had never heard of Chu-Chu's having done any work over there. Then it struck me that his errand might have something to do with Léontine. It was possible that he had given the pearls that morning to Léontine, but this idea I put out of my mind. Léontine would know where they came from, and I did not believe that in the face of my threat she would dare to dispose of them. It must be something else.

Another idea struck me. What if Chu-Chu's errand was not to get the pearls but to dispose of them? What if he had turned the pearls in to Ivan and the two had come to an understanding and decided to insist on Léontine's getting rid of them, taking the chances on getting the gems from me later by methods of their own? It was possible that they might be confident that I would keep the gems on my person, and even at that moment Ivan's bloodhounds might be on my trail. A moment's thought and I was sure that this was the actual situation.

For with this information it seemed to me that the whole business was clear. Kharkoff's car was a big, heavy, limousine affair, and not capable of much speed. Kharkoff would probably stop at St. Germain for déjeuner, and this would consume an hour and a half at least, for the Russian was a high-liver. After déjeuner they would take the road to Boulogne, probably stopping at Abbeville for tea, and reaching Boulogne in good time to take the boat which left for Folkestone at seven. Chu-Chu would push right through, and contrive in some way to get a word with Léontine, handing over to her the pearls, with strict instructions from Ivan that she dispose of them. After that, he would return with all speed to Paris and take up my trail. The game was being undoubtedly played to the full limit and to win the pearls, the gems and the life of a dangerous renegade.

All of this hit me, like a ton of brick, as the true solution. I had been a fool, I thought, to figure for a second on Chu-Chu's condescending to make a dicker with a rank outsider who had handled him as I had done. To begin with, no doubt his ferocious hate was so intense that he would rather have lost the gems and flung the pearls into the Seine than to have had me square myself with the Cuttynges. Ivan, too, had been humiliated in a manner impossible for his self-respect as the chief of a big criminal system to endure. Neither one could stomach it, and they had joined forces again to play the game out to the bitter end.

All of this, my friend, had flashed through my mind, even as I went to the office to learn when the Prince's car had gone out. Sooner, in fact. The problem and its possible solution had occurred to me as Chu-Chu rolled out of the garage when I had told the mécanicien to fill up my tank. In the Under-World the odds are heavy on the man who strikes first. So far this policy had won for me, and I determined to stick to it. As matters stood I felt that I was a doomed individual. If Ivan had marked me for the morgue, I was a goner. But, at any rate, I did not intend to mark time and wait for the blow to fall. My word, but I was sorry that I hadn't followed my play through, and sent them both to glory when I had had the chance!

Ivan's little car was a good one, but she was no match for my big six. I decided to overhaul Chu-Chu on the road somewhere beyond Amiens, and, as I passed, to shoot him dead as he sat at the wheel. If the mécanicien showed fight, I would kill him, too. Sounds pretty thick, doesn't it? That's because we are in peaceful old France. If it were Arizona you'd think nothing about it.

Out I went and jumped into the car and rolled off, leaving Gustave to stare after me, disgusted that I should go without a mécanicien. My mind was working fast as I sped along. Plan after plan went through my head. It struck me that perhaps the best way would be to pass Chu-Chu when he was travelling fast and crowd him into the ditch. This would not be difficult with a big heavy car like mine; and in such an "accident" the driver is usually killed while the man beside him is apt to escape. If neither was injured, I could always go back and finish Chu-Chu with my pistol. Then I thought of even a better plan. Why not get on ahead, then lay my car across the road so that they would have to stop, and hold Chu-Chu up and go through him for the pearls? Once having got them, I could rush back to Paris, turn over the pearls and the gems to John, with instructions to give the latter to the police, and get out of the country as quick as possible. I did not believe that Ivan or Chu-Chu would follow me up if I went to America, though it was possible that Chu-Chu might.

Sounds as if I began to weaken as I went along, doesn't it? Well, perhaps I did. The odds against me were too awful heavy, and life is sweet, after all. The strain was beginning to tell, too, and I knew that this would get steadily worse. A fight in the open is all right; but to feel that you are being watched and dogged and shadowed by a big human octopus, to be struck down at the first unguarded moment, is pretty awful. I don't pretend to any more nerve than the average man who has lived the most of his active life in the Under-World. Besides, I never was a killer.

Out I went through St. Germain to avoid the pavée, and turned off for Pontoise, taking a good road gait but not pushing her any. It was a beautiful day in the early summer, and as I filled my lungs with the sweet perfume of the forest it struck me as being mighty rough that I should be crowded out just when life seemed to be opening up all anew and full of promise. If only they could have left me in peace. I thought of Edith's sweet face and wondered what she would say if she knew how things had turned out. At any rate, living or dead, she would know that I had stuck to my word and taken the consequences without flinching, and this thought did me a lot of good. After all, my life had been lived at the expense of Society, and Society had a right to collect her debt before taking me back. A curious thing, this life. No act ever seems to go for nothing, good or bad. I began to get mighty thoughtful as I rolled along through that splendid old forest of St. Germain. A deep sadness settled on me. After all, I thought, what's the use of trying to escape your destiny. Very likely God made thieves and murderers to prey on the rest of mankind just as he made wolves and panthers to prey on deer. About half of the living creatures in the world prey on the other half. It's hard to see the use of a criminal, except to himself and others of his class, but it struck me that maybe Chu-Chu had run over the limit and that I was intended as an instrument to put a check on him. That was a cheerful way to look at it, anyway.

I passed through Pontoise and held on for Beauvais by the little route that Ivan's man had spoken of at the garage. It was a pity, I thought, that I could not have caught them up here, for there was nobody on the road. By this time I had my plan all made. I determined to pass Chu-Chu at high speed and literally crowd him off the road. This would be dangerous to me, of course, as it's a risky job to mix up the direction of a big car running at a high speed, but I would be prepared and ought to be able to stick to the track. As you know, these French roads are drained by ditches at least a foot deep and a foot wide, running off at right-angles and spaced only ten or a dozen metres apart. Shoved into one of those while running fast, Chu-Chu's chances were all for getting piled up. What happened after that would depend on circumstances. I gave up the idea of stopping him by laying my own car across the road. In the first place there was the danger that he might recognise me, even in my mask and ulster. Also, it was possible that somebody might come along and interfere with the rest of the game.

"Kharkoff!" I said to myself, and sure enough it was. I cut loose the siren and the car swerved out to the right, and as I tore past I caught a glimpse of the Prince inside and Léontine. They could not have recognised me, my face being covered with the mask, but I hoped that Chu-Chu was far enough ahead to enable me to finish my business with him before they came up, and this seemed probable as the little car was light and fast.

I glanced at the watch in front of me and saw that it was three o'clock. It would take Kharkoff a good twenty minutes to catch us up, I thought, and by that time I ought to have the job done and be away, provided I did not put my own car out of action. Ahead of me, Chu-Chu had hit the top of the grade and disappeared. I opened up the big six and she went up that hill like a thirteen-inch shell. Then, here was a cloud of dust ahead, and as I tore down the slope on the other side I saw that it was a big limousine touring-car full of people. She was chugging along like an old tugboat, rattling like a junk-cart. I swore. The place was perfect for my plan, and there was Chu-Chu going down the grade ahead like a scared rabbit.

Soon we went through Abbeville and out on to the big straight road beyond. That two-seater of Ivan's could certainly get over the route and Chu-Chu was a good driver. I realised that I must ditch him before Montreuil, as after that the road is more frequented, so I hit up my pace and began to draw in on his heels. Then all at once there opened out a splendid, long, soaring descent with one or two gentle rises, for the country here is in great undulations, like a big Pacific ground-swell. Better yet, there was a row of poplars on either side of the road.

The time had come. I gave the big six the accelerator, then opened up the siren. "Wop—wop—Wow-ow," she went. Chu-Chu's mécanicien looked back, then said something to Chu-Chu. He swerved out, never slackening his speed, which must have been around sixty kilometres, while my gauge showed ninety-six—a mile a minute, just. We were soaring down a long three per cent. grade, and the poplar trunks flashing past like the palings of a fence. "If he gets out of this alive the joke is certainly on me," I thought, and gripped the wheel with all of the strength that was in me.

Down I rushed like an angel of death, the silencer open and the exhaust roaring like a gatling gun. Until almost up to him I kept well over to the left, then began to edge in. The mécanicien looked back over his shoulder, and as he saw me crowding them, yelled something in Chu-Chu's ear. Chu-Chu slid over, getting dangerously off the crown of the road and almost into the ditch. I followed him, working closer. I saw the mécanicien's mouth open in a yell and he flung out one arm. Ruthless as a greyhound at the side of a hare, I closed in on him, forging always ahead. My eyes never left the road, but I could feel my mudguard rubbing his. This time the yell of the mécanicien reached me. It sounded like the bleat of a sheep.

Then, evenly abreast and my foot nursing the pedal, I shot ahead, giving the wheel the slightest twist. I heard the grind of metal, then a crash as I flirted the stern of my big car into the forward end of the other. I did not dare take my eyes from the road, and so slight was the jar that I thought that I had missed. But a shriek pierced the roaring of the exhaust and the next instant I heard from far behind me, as it seemed, a terrific crash. I cut off the power and braked, gently.

The car slowed, then stopped and I looked back. There was nothing on the road behind me. There was nothing in the ditch, against the trees. I flung up my mask. Lord of Life, but what was this, out there in the standing wheat? The other car, as I hope to live. The other car, both men still aboard it, and still going. It looked like a western reaper, out there in the waving grain.

Then suddenly I understood. Even as I closed in on him, Chu-Chu had guessed what was afoot. Perhaps he recognised me, mask and all, in one swift sidelong glance. He saw my deadly intention and his marvellous quick wit had leaped at the only possible means of escape from annihilation. The shove I gave him had aided his own design and he had leaped the cross ditch, slipped between the trees, crashed through the hedge and shot into the wheat-field.

At the same instant I heard the shriek of a siren ahead. Down an opposite slope came a cloud of dust. It reached the bottom of the descent and hit the slight up-grade. Up it came, and at a distance of several hundred metres the people aboard it sighted Chu-Chu, out there in the wheat. The car slowed, then stopped beside my own.

Then Chu-Chu did what must have impressed them as an incomprehensible thing. He had made a detour in the wheat and was approaching the road below us, where there was an entrance in the field. Reaching this he turned on to the route, when, without so much as a backward glance, he threw in his speed and whirled off down the slope.

I agreed with him, wondering what he would say when he saw my tracks, farther up the slope. But there was nothing more to discuss, so I bowed and started ahead. I knew that they would stop to look at the twisted remains of Chu-Chu's mudguards, and I could imagine their fresh mystification at his taking the matter so indifferently when they noted the evidence of our relative tracks. I doubted that I had left him the room for a man on a bicycle.

On I went, slowly and thinking hard. Chu-Chu had escaped by a miracle, aided by his own extraordinary coolness, skill and lightning thought. I actually admired the man. But it was plain enough that the scheme was not one to be tried a second time. Chu-Chu and the mécanicien were both armed, no doubt, and I could imagine the amiable state of their emotions.

On the way back my mind was presented by a very nasty consideration. The war with Chu-Chu was now on, full blast, and it occurred to me that owing to our remarkable resemblance John's life was in almost as much danger as my own. Chu-Chu was not the man to risk losing a chance through fear of getting the wrong person. John must be warned immediately, and persuaded, if possible, to leave the country and remain away until the feud was settled. So on reaching the garage I jumped into a taxi and went immediately to his house.

"Yes, it is M'sieu ," says he. "M'sieu has not been himself to-day. He has consumed an entire bottle of whisky." He said this as though speaking of potassium cyanide. "After déjeuner, M'sieu threw himself down upon the divan in the library and went to sleep. Before long he began to snore. For the sake of Madame I tried to persuade him to go up to his room, but M'sieu's temper was very disagreeable. In fact, he threatened François with violence."

I went in and closed the door gently behind me. John's drunken snores were filling the whole house. Edith was lying on a chaise-longue by the open window. A thrush was singing in the garden and there was the odour of lilacs. Edith did not rise, but looked up at me with her sweet smile. She was pale, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, but her face was tranquil and the eyes themselves clear and steady as always.

Edith glanced out of the window. "John has been drinking too much for a long time, and thinks that I have not noticed it," said she, quietly. "I hate the idea of nagging, Frank, so I have waited for a culmination which would make my protest unavoidable. Now it has come. John is dead drunk in his own drawing-room, for the first time in his life. He cannot be awakened. He is a kind husband and a very proud man, and I have no fear but that the remorse which follows this will effect the result I want. John will pass me his word and like yourself, Frank, he keeps his word. A family trait." She smiled.

"She is less charitable. She refuses to believe that you are not in some way interested. When I pointed out that nobody as adroit as yourself would go tramping about a flower-bed with shoes having a design stamped on the sole, or would have dropped a handkerchief in her room, she said: I don't believe that he stole my necklace. She agreed with me that that theft was a put-up job on the part of your former confrères who used you as a scapegoat. But she argued that inasmuch as this had occurred you felt that there was no sense in having the name without the game, and that you had come down the next night and stolen mine."

"I can't tell you anything just yet, Edith. All I can say is that Miss Dalghren's pearls were stolen, as you supposed, to drive me back to the old life. The theft of yours was different. The same person who had been detailed to do the first job for somebody else, came back and did the second on his own account. But the hand is not yet played out. Give me a little more time."

Miss Dalghren's intent blue eyes never left mine. I began to feel my patience squirming around a bit. Thought I, this fool of a girl thinks that she knows something and is trying to make me 'fess up. Even if she were right, I wonder if she thinks her will is stronger than mine? Does she take me for a Sunday-school scholar? Or a pilfering valet-de-chambre? I began to get angry. Miss Dalghren was one of those noble, upright women who are so straight that they bend over backward. For that kind, all humanity is divided into two big classes; good and bad. There is nothing between. Such people have an unbounded faith in the militant strength of virtue. Secure in their own they are convinced that no sinful person can meet the power of their blameless eye, and they keep on thinking so until some joker with an equally strong but more supple will bamboozles them out of whatever it is that they value most. I have always hated that breed of unconscious "oh, come, sinning brother, and sin no more" pharisee. They do a lot of harm; much more, in fact, than others with a lot less virtue and a little more tolerance. This girl was convinced that I had stolen Edith's pearls, and nothing was going to unconvince her. I wasn't. She made me tired.

"Mr. Clamart," says she, "have you no sense of gratitude? No scruple nor respect for your given word? Just think what these people did for you. Think of the penal servitude from which they rescued you and the opportunity which they have offered you for reconstructing your life. And see the suffering that you have brought into their home. There is John——"

"Yes," she answered, "so much the better for John, perhaps. But it is not so much the better for you, Mr. Clamart. Now listen to me. I don't like to make threats, but I will not stand quietly by and see the happiness of my friends wrecked by such a man as you. I felt from the first that this experiment was foolish and dangerous, but I did think that you would at least spare your benefactors. But since you appear to be dead to all sense of finer feeling, I mean to act. If those pearls are not restored within forty-eight hours, I will tell what I know."

I picked up the paper and ran quickly through the account. The victim, it appeared, was on her way to Paris, accompanied by her maid. She carried her jewels in a small valise, which she never permitted to leave her hand in travelling. The crossing had been rough, and the maid had immediately succumbed to sea-sickness and gone into her mistress's state-room to lie down. Mrs. Allerton-Staire had walked for a few minutes on deck, then seated herself in a deck-chair. Growing suddenly ill she had gone to her cabin, assisted by a gentleman who had been sitting next her. She had the satchel containing the jewels in her hand at the time. Immediately on reaching her state-room she had fallen in a syncope from which she could not be roused on reaching Calais. It was then discovered that the bottom of the satchel had a long incision, the jewel-case being gone. Suspicion was at once directed against the man who had been sitting beside the unfortunate woman on deck, and who was described as a gentlemanly looking person with a square black beard. In assisting the lady he had been heard to remark that he was a physician. It was supposed that he had given her some powerful hypnotic, probably asserting it to be a remedy for sea-sickness. This was, however, mere surmise, as the victim was still unconscious and in a very low condition. When the theft was discovered, this man was not to be found, either aboard the boat nor in Calais, where a thorough search was made for him by the police. It was thought that he had left the town in an automobile—and there was the usual amount of speculation, and theories.

There was no time to be lost. First of all, John must be warned and persuaded to get out of Paris at once. I dressed hurriedly and went around to the office, where I found a note from Edith saying that he was ill in bed and asking me to call at the house at noon as John wished to have a talk with me, and hoped that by that time he would be fit for an interview.

There was nothing in particular to do at the office, so at about eleven I ran down to the Automobile Club, hoping to find our client of the day before and apologise for having disappointed him. He was not in the lounge, but over in the corner, smoking a huge cigar, I saw an old acquaintance. This was none other than the Baron Isidor Rosenthal, of Buda Pest and Hayti.

Perhaps you know Rosenthal. Everybody knows him. No? Well, my friend, a part of your education has been lacking. Rosenthal is a big brawny giant of a Jew who has amassed an enormous fortune in all sorts of adventurous promoting schemes, principally in the financing of revolutions. Some time ago he was created a Papal Baron. That sounds funny for a Jew, but Rosenthal had fairly earned his title by saving the lives of a whole community of Bulgarian Christians during the raid of a fanatical Moslem outfit which was on a jehad, or holy war. Rosenthal had stood off this outfit at the cost of great personal danger and considerable financial expense. He had stopped a bullet for his pains, but this had not stopped Rosenthal. The Vatican had made him a baron and the French had created him an officer of the Légion d'Honneur.

Rosenthal was a man of big heart and big ideas. I had known him quite well in Buenos Ayres, and he had stood my friend in a nasty business which might otherwise have cost me dear. This he had done out of sheer kind-heartedness and a personal liking that he had conceived for me. I had not seen him since, so I crossed the room to pass the time o' day.

"Goot!" says he. "That is a better business than you were in down there in South America." He grinned. "I am glad to learn that you have taken to more honest vor'rk—alt'ough the last man who sold me a car vas a t'ief. He r'robbed me—oh, my fr'rendt—und it vas not der last time." His big sardonic face lengthened and he gave a groan like a dying horse. "I have been r'robbed again. It is terrible. I am sick from it." He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his face, and for the moment he actually looked sick. "I haf been r'robbed of gems vort twenty t'ousand pounds."

"Yes," said he, "it is terrible, is it not? Efery year ven I go home I take a pr'resent to my dear vife in Pest. This time I got vat I have been long looking for. I found a goot bargain. Nefer haf I seen such stones in pr'rivate hands. But I vas a fool. I carried t'em about in my pocket. It is a bad habit of mine. Der odder day I vent to der races und dere my pocket vas picked. It is that vich so hurts. Isidor Rosenthal to haf his pocket picked like any fool of a tourist avay from home for der feerst time."

I did not answer. My mouth felt dry. To most people one string of pearls looks very like another, but to an expert like myself they have as much individual expression as a horse to a racing man, or a boat to a sailor. I had noticed Edith's pearls minutely, and the moment my eyes rested on them there was no more doubt than a mother has when she looks into the face of her babe.

Rosenthal pushed himself back in his chair and stared at me. His eyes, which were of a light hazel colour, slightly bulging and curiously mottled with dark-brown spots, opened until they looked like the glass ones you see in opticians. His tufty, grizzled eyebrows went up, and his jaw dropped. Then he burst into his big, raucous laugh.

Rosenthal was a connoisseur of jewels, and usually had a few gems sprinkled about his person. I had heard it said in Buenos Ayres that the big Jew was usually to be found about the gambling places with hard cash to pay for a ring or scarf-pin in case any unfortunate gambler wanted to get the price to continue the game. This was a sort of fad of Rosenthal's, and when he found anything particularly fine it usually went to add to the collection of his wife in Buda Pest.

"Will you give yourselves the trouble to enter my private room," says he, and led the way into a sort of office, richly furnished in Louis XIV. In the centre stood a heavy table with a few chairs about it, and a studio window let in the light from over head. There were a couple of large hand-lenses and some different coloured stuffs against which to show the jewels.

"Mr. Cuttynge is right," said he, in an agitated voice. We were speaking in French. "It is true that when he sold me the pearls it was understood between us that I was not to sell them for a year. I also assured M. Cuttynge that I would not sell the string exactly as it was when worn by Madame Cuttynge, but would make certain substitutions which should render it impossible to recognise the string. I am overwhelmed with regret and remorse."

"Of course," said he, "when a lady is unfortunately compelled to part with her jewels, she does not care to have them recognised elsewhere. I quite understood this, and although I bought the pearls outright, I had no intention of not keeping my verbal agreement. But when I came to make the substitution, I found that I had nothing available with which to replace a few of the larger pearls, which are uncommonly fine. Nevertheless, I should have held strictly to my word had the purchaser been any other than Baron Rosenthal." He turned to me with a look of entreaty. "M. le Baron," said he, "is one of my most valued customers. When he assured me that the rope was for his wife and that he was leaving to-night for Buda Pest, I was so weak as to sell the string as it was. It was very wrong of me and I am desolated. If there is any thing that I can do in the way of making amends, rest assured, M. Cuttynge, I will do it, even at a considerable personal sacrifice."

Rosenthal threw me a swift look. I gave my shoulders a slight shrug. My friend, although I looked impassive enough, I was all in a turmoil. So John was the thief. John had stolen his wife's pearls, brought them to this man Delmas, and sold them outright on Delmas' verbal agreement that he would not dispose of them for twelve months, and then only after making such changes as would render it impossible to recognise the string.

As this went through my head, the first emotion was a hot, furious rage against my thieving sot of a half-brother. It was for this that I had bearded Ivan in his den and tried to assassinate Chu-Chu. It was for this that my life must hang in the balance until I should either kill or be killed. Now that I knew I wanted to get out of the place and mentally digest the situation.

The dealer saw the blood surging into my face. Perhaps he saw the fury behind my eyes, for he began to renew his apologies and regrets and offers to make what amends he could for having broken his given word. I had no doubt that he was a fairly honest man. But he had lacked the force to resist Rosenthal's insistence. He reasoned that since he had bought the pearls outright and was under no written bond, and as the pearls were going to Buda Pest to adorn the large person of such a be-jewelled woman as he knew the Baroness Rosenthal to be, their non-recognition would be practically assured. John, I thought, had probably sold the pearls outright because he was in need of every bit of money that he could get.

The Baron had pushed back his chair and was staring up at the ceiling. The big Jew was sadly puzzled. Knowing nothing of the striking resemblance between John and myself, he had no solution to the mystery. There was no way of his guessing that the dealer had taken me for Mr. Cuttynge, and Rosenthal was at a loss to understand why it was that when I had apparently stolen the jewels and then sold them, as "Mr. Cuttynge," I should lug him down there to row the dealer. But he felt that there was something behind it all, so he merely sat tight and kept his mouth shut and waited for the mystery to clear.

There was nothing I cared to say to the dealer just then, so I merely remarked: "Well, M. Delmas, as you say, you have not acted properly in this matter. A man with such a reputation as yours ought to stick to his word. It is because of that reputation that the people having business with you do not demand written agreements. I must think over this affair. As a matter of fact, since you bought the pearls certain events have occurred which would enable Mrs. Cuttynge to buy them back. It is possible that Baron Rosenthal and I may be able to arrange the matter between ourselves."

We spun back to the Club, neither of us saying more than commonplaces on the way. I paid off the cab and sent the note to John by one of the Club's chasseurs. It was then about one o clock, and Rosenthal asked me to lunch with him, suggesting that we have our talk afterward. Knowing him for a man who took the care of his body as seriously in civilisation as he did lightly when on the trail, I agreed, and we spent a pleasant hour over our déjeuner, talking of various unimportant things. The repast over, the Baron said:

Rosenthal froze into a colossus in stone. The rosy, after-eating glow faded from his face, leaving it an ivory yellow. The big, bushy eyebrows went up at least three inches and he cocked his head to one side, while the staring, mottled eyes bulged at the gems. Then, back came the colour into the big, heavy-lined face. His thick tongue wagged like the tongue of a parrot, but only gurgles came. He reached for the cognac which had been served with our coffee and took a gulp straight from the decanter.

So without any more preliminary I started in and gave him the whole yarn from the very start, holding back neither facts nor names. Rosenthal leaned back in his big chair and rolled the huge cigar in his thick lips and listened, giving me now and again a quick glance from his keen eyes, which were almost hid under the down-drawn bushy eyebrows and folds of leathery skin.

Only at the start did he make the slightest sign of emotion, and that was when I told him frankly that I was an ex-cracksman. This information he received with a sudden opening of his eyes, then closing them again. Rosenthal had previously regarded me as a sort of gentleman adventurer, not over-scrupulous, perhaps, in the matter of business, but a gentleman born, well-bred, and not fudamentally dishonest. He himself was absolutely honest in his personal affairs, but had a wide margin of ethics when it came to a really big commercial deal. His world-wide reputation was that a man would be safe in placing any amount of cold cash in his hands without asking for a receipt, but if anybody sat in a game of high finance with him, he needed to play mighty close to his belt. Rosenthal would plunder the coffers of a country with the same ruthlessness that a cracksman would go through a safe. I remarked a little while ago that for men there were no half-measures of honesty; that a man was either honest or dishonest. Perhaps I should amend that statement by adding, "with himself." Rosenthal was absolutely honest with himself. He had his own peculiar code and he was true to it. Moreover, the Jew was a big man and a man of heart. He was generous and liberal, and his motto was, "live and let live." I knew that my story was as safe with him as though sealed in a leaden casket and dropped into the sea.

"My fr'riendt," says he, "this is a wicked vorld, and there are many wicked people in it. But there are some good ones, too. As a man gets older he appreciates these. There are not so many people whom I am proud to know. I could count t'em on the fingers of von hand, and haf left der thumb. Dr. Leyden is von, and Mallock is von, und dere is anodder now in pr'rison, serving a life sentence for a fr'riendt. You also are von, und if you efer need a fr'riendt, call on Isidor Rosenthal."

"Thank you, Baron," said I. "One always needs a good friend. I am going to take you at your word. Now listen: John Cuttynge must redeem those pearls. His wife must never know what he has done. It would kill her. I don't know how he stands financially; pretty badly, I suppose, or he would never have stolen the pearls. Now, I am going to ask you to turn over those pearls to me, taking my note for what you paid and letting us pay it off as we are able."

"Ivan will stand pat, I think," said I. "To tell the truth, he would probably be quite content to have Chu-Chu removed. Between you and me, I think that Ivan is afraid of him. A man like that is a constant source of danger to the organisation. I am going to see Ivan and tell him how things stand and ask him to keep out of it."

John sank back against his pillows with a groan. I started in with the story, telling him everything except the names of Léontine and Ivan. Before I had finished, John's face changed for the better. The dull look had gone out of his eyes and they had grown hard and bright. There was a tinge of colour in his cheeks and his jaw was set. When I had finished he reached out one hand and gave me a grip that hurt.

"Since this morning. Mary Dalghren saw me slipping out of the house just after I stole the pearls. She came over from the studio to get something in the house. She took me for you. When I came in at three of the morning she was waiting up. She told me what she had seen and I begged her to say nothing about it to Edith. But this morning she told her. I couldn't stand that. I thought that they would lay the robbery to your old gang, not to you."

My friend, have you ever been tempted? Not tempted by gold, or a woman or the lust for revenge—but by something that is far deeper than life or death, or the hope of heaven? Have you ever been tempted until your very soul is wrung and tortured and screaming in pain? Mere death is a joke to this; the love of life is the longing of a child for a stick of candy in comparison. Edith to lose faith in me? The idea wrenched a groan from the very core of my whole conscious being. It was too much. Had I not done my part? Played the game honestly and fair?

But hot on the heels of this rank selfishness came the thought of Edith. It was of Edith that I must think. It was for Edith that I must suffer—and the knowledge that I might bear her burden of sorrow and shame took away all of the sting. Edith loved John. In John lay her whole life's happiness. Edith could not live in the knowledge that her husband had been tempted to theft and had succumbed. As for myself, her faith in me and in the goodness of mankind would suffer to the point of causing her infinite pain, but this pain would be an abstract quality. It would be a wound from which she would recover. But to feel that her loved husband had stolen, had committed the meanest of thefts rather than to come to her in his trouble, would be a stiletto through her pure heart.

He writhed as he lay. "My God, my God!" he moaned. "What a fool! what a fool! It was my only way out, Frank. I was cornered, trapped, half mad and half drunk. I was carrying a lot of stock and was knocked galleywest in this flurry. Another day and I would have been all right. My brokers were howling like wolves for margin. I tried to get it over the baccarat table—and lost. To have got sold out would have meant ruin. And it was Edith's money. The sale of the pearls was barely enough to tide me over. I sold them outright to get more money and because I did not see how I could restore them—what story I could tell. I have just had a telegram; the market is up again."

"So much the better," said I, briskly. "Now settle up, John. Sell out, then settle with Rosenthal. Don't bother about my part of it. Think of the debt I owe to Edith. I ought to welcome the chance of squaring it. It will hurt her to think that I broke my word—but I can say something to cheer her. I will let her think that I am morally lacking—constitutionally wrong. Brace up, old man."

"I've thought of that," I answered. "It wouldn't do. I'd get the enmity of a powerful criminal organisation and wouldn't live twenty-four hours. But there are other ways. I know the Under-World and its antidotes. There are unofficial means of checkmating this desperado—a secret service. There is no time to explain, as I've got a lot to do. But I hope to have this Chu-Chu person checkmated before many days. You leave it to me. But remember one thing; if Edith ever gets a suspicion of the true facts, all of my work and danger go for nothing. You understand."

Out of the house I rushed and hurried up to the office. I seemed to see Chu-Chu in every face I passed, and I hungered for him. Arrived at the office I wrote a note to Ivan, asking him to come at once to my address on a matter of the most vital importance. This I sent around to his house by a taxi, telling the driver to bring back an answer.

"I should have much regretted the loss of my mécanicien," says Ivan. "He is a useful man. Also, you came very near spoiling a good piece of work for me, although I could wish that you had if that unfortunate woman dies." A scowl crossed his handsome face. That Chu-Chu is the very devil, Mr. Clamart. There was absolutely no need for him to poison his victim. I know what he gave her. She would have been dead when the boat reached Calais if it had not been for her mal-de-mer. After your revelations in my office I would have broken with Chu-Chu had it not been that there was no one immediately available to put on the job. I am not a murderer, Mr. Clamart. To tell the truth, I am a bit of an artist, and promiscuous killing disgusts me. I have had enough of Chu-Chu. The pig never mentioned those gems that you took from him—or that I did," he smiled.

"I gave them back to him," said I. "You see, my dear Count, I do not boast when I say that I am a man of my word. Meeting Rosenthal in the Automobile Club he told me of his loss. He is an old friend of mine, and once saved me from a South American prison. They are not pleasant places. I told him that I had been for many years a professional thief and that in a quarrel with a confrère on a personal matter I had come into possession of the gems. Learning that they were his, I wished to restore them. The Baron asked no questions."

"No," said he, slowly. "Personally I wish you no ill. I like and admire you, Mr. Clamart. As you remarked yesterday, a man may be a criminal and yet have a certain code of ethics. I, myself, am not what Society would call a purely bad man. I steal from the rich, and sometimes, indirectly, as in the case of a bank, from the poor. Many respect able financiers do as much. But I give liberally to certain charities. It might surprise you to know that I am the sole supporter of an institution for tuberculous children. A child of my own once died of tuberculosis and my own early boyhood was menaced by the same disease."

"Your charity does not surprise me in the least," said I. "In fact, it shows me that I was correct in my estimate of your character. If I had not felt this quality in you I would never have given myself the trouble to go to you and ask for Miss Dalghren's pearls. We have much in common, Count. We are both gentlemen born and to some extent the victims of circumstance. My own career as a criminal was cut short because it conflicted with my personal honour. Now, my career as an honest man is apt to be cut short because it conflicts with my former career as a criminal. Chu-Chu will certainly kill me unless I am so fortunate as to kill Chu-Chu first. What are your own sympathies in this feud?"

"Count," I said, "after our painful interview of yesterday morning, I determined to write a full statement which would incriminate you and your gang, and place it in the hands of some person with directions to put it in the hands of the police if I should suddenly be found murdered—or mysteriously disappear. Then I thought that I would write to you and tell you what I had done, thus making you, in a way, my guardian angel. But I did not do this. I had met with straight dealing and good faith at your hands—and I knew that as much as you might wish to do so, nothing on your part would ever prevent Chu-Chu from trying to settle his account with me. The man is a blood-maniac. This afternoon Cuttynge confessed to me that he had stolen his wife's pearls."

"Yes," said I, "Cuttynge was pressed by certain obligations and stole the pearls. He sold them outright, knowing that he could never explain their return. His confession proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that your dealings with me had been fair and generous. Now, my dear Count, you could have me assassinated at any time that suited your convenience, and no one would be the wiser. I have always detested the idea of a man's turning honest and then betraying his old pals to save his pelt. I won't do it. I wouldn't do it living, nor would I do it dead. As for your asking me for my word that I will never place any information injurious to you, it is not necessary. But since you ask for it, I give it. As long as you do not interfere in my feud with Chu-Chu I will never betray you."

"That's quite enough, Mr. Clamart," said he. "You have nothing to fear from me. Fight it out with Chu-Chu. I hope you kill him." He scowled again, and his handsome face underwent a lightning change from that of the polite man of the world to that of the criminal, which lies so near the surface in every professional thief.

"No. That could not be done. It would be bad for the organisation. You are, after all, an outsider, and Chu-Chu is one of us. He has no friends, but a great many admirers. Few men will work with him after having had the opportunity to observe his methods. Not long ago, when on a bank job in the south, he strangled the watchman whom he had previously corrupted and offered a share for holding his tongue. One of my younger men who assisted him protested. 'What does it matter?' asked Chu-Chu. 'It is cheaper than paying him, and the fellow is not one of our crowd. He is only an amateur. Myself, I respect only the professionals.' That is Chu-Chu. He would rather kill than not. Some day he will spoil everything. I have had enough of him. I hope that you manage to kill him, Mr. Clamart. He is no longer to be trusted, and it is even possible that if caught he might turn State's Evidence. He is an egoist a rank egoist."

"Absolutely. I will do more than that. If opportunity offers I might even give you a little unofficial help. Now I must go. I wish you good luck. You will need it. And a word in your ear; look out for an Oriental-looking person with one nostril much larger than the other. He is Chu-Chu's servant. Some say he is Chu-Chu's brain. Now I must go. Au revoir and the best of luck."