interest you to know, further,
that there are seven entrances to the warehouse in Tooley Street.
Through one of these something like twenty of my men passed and were
already concealed in the place when I entered. At another of the doors a
motor-car waited for me. If I had chosen to lift my finger at any time,
your men would have been overpowered and I might have had the pleasure
of dictating terms to you in my own office. Such a course did not appeal
to me. You and I, as you know, dear Count von Hern, conduct our peculiar
business under very delicate conditions, and the least thing we either
of us desire is notoriety. I managed things, as I thought, for the best.
The moment you left the place my men swarmed in. We kindly, but gently,
ejected your guard, released Greening and my clerk, and I passed you
myself in Fleet Street, a little more comfortable, I think, in my
forty-horsepower motor-car than you in that very disreputable hansom.
As to my presence here, I have an entrance from the street there which
makes me independent of my servants. The other details are too absurdly
simple; one need not enlarge upon them."

Bernadine turned slowly to Violet.

"You knew?" he muttered. "You knew when you brought me here?"

"Naturally," she answered. "We have telephones in every room in the
house."

"I am at your service," Bernadine declared, calmly.

De Grost laughed.

"My dear fellow," he said, "need I say that you are free to come or go,
to take a whiskey and soda with me, or to depart at once, exactly as
you feel inclined? The door was locked only until you restored to me my
keys."

He crossed the room, fitted the key in the lock and turned it.

"We do not make war as those others," he remarked, smiling.

Bernadine drew himself up.

"I will not drink with you," he said, "I will not smoke with you. But
some day this reckoning shall come."

He turned to the door. De Grost laid his finger upon the bell.

"Show Count von Hern out," he directed the astonished servant who
appeared a moment or two later.

CHAPTER VI. THE SEVEN SUPPERS OF ANDREA KORUST

Peter, Baron de Grost, was enjoying what he had confidently looked
forward to as an evening's relaxation, pure and simple. He sat in one of
the front rows of the stalls of the Alhambra, his wife by his side
and an excellent cigar in his mouth. An hour or so ago he had been in
telephonic communication with Paris, had spoken with Sogrange himself,
and received hi