The little lady was upstairs. The servants had apparently
retired for the night. He crept up to the half-open door and peered in.
The room, as he had hoped to find it, was empty, but Madame's easy-chair
was drawn up to the fire, and some coffee stood upon the hob. Stealthily
Peter Ruff crept in and glanced around, seeking for a hiding place. A
movement upstairs hastened his decision. He pushed aside the massive
curtains which separated this from a connecting room. He had scarcely
done so when light footsteps were heard descending the stairs.

Peter Ruff found his hiding place all that could have been desired. This
secondary room itself was almost in darkness, but he was just able to
appreciate the comforting fact that it possessed a separate exit into
the hall. Through the folds of the curtain he had a complete view of the
further apartment. The little lady had changed her gown of stiff white
satin for one of flimsier material, and, seated in the easy-chair, she
was busy pouring herself out some coffee. She took a cigarette from a
silver box, and lighting it, curled herself up in the chair and composed
herself as though to listen. To her as well as to Peter Ruff, as he
crouched in his hiding place, the moments seemed to pass slowly enough.
Yet, as he realised afterward, it could not have been ten minutes before
she sat upright in a listening attitude. There was some one coming!
Peter Ruff, too, heard a man's firm footsteps come up the flagged
stones.

The little lady sprang to her feet.

"Paul!" she exclaimed.

Paul Jermyn came slowly to meet her. He seemed a little out of breath.
His tie was all disarranged and his collar unfastened.

The little lady, however, noticed none of these things. She looked only
into his face.

"Have you got it?" she asked, eagerly.

He thrust his hand into his breast-coat pocket, and held an envelope out
toward her.

"Sure!" he answered. "I promised!"

She gave a little sob, and with the packet in her hand came running
straight toward the spot where Peter Ruff was hiding.

He shrank back as far as possible. She stopped just short of the
curtain, opened the drawer of a table which stood there, and slipped
the packet in. Then she came back once more to where Paul Jermyn was
standing.

"My friend!" she cried, holding out her hands--"my dear, dear friend!
Shall I ever be able to thank you enough?"

"Why, if you try," he answered, smiling, "I think that you could!"

She laid her