s work; he had
slept badly in the train and done without a bath. In the soft
sunlight that rained upon those brilliant streets he felt foul and
unsightly.

He yawned, between a certain afternoon drowsiness and a languid
depression.

"I'll wander up to the Meurice an' get a wash, anyhow," he decided,
and turned to stroll through the Tuileries Gardens towards the hotel.
He went slowly; it was pleasant among the trees, and when a seat in
the shadows offered itself he sank down into it.

"I'll sleep all right in the train to-night," he thought, shoving
back his cap.

There were children playing somewhere out of sight; their voices came
to him in an agreeable tinkle. He crossed one leg over the other and
settled himself more comfortably; he had plenty of time to spare now.
His eyes closed restfully.

The touch that roused him was a very gentle one, scarcely more than a
ghost of a sensation, the mere brush of a dexterous hand that slid as
quietly as a shadow along the edge of his jacket pocket and groped
into it with long clever fingers, while its owner, sitting beside him
on the bench, gazed meditatively before him with an air of complete
detachment from that skilled felonious hand. Raleigh, waking without
moving, was able for a couple of seconds to survey his neighbor, a
slim white-faced youth with a black cotton cap slouched forward over
one eye. Then, swiftly, he caught the exploring hand by the wrist and
sat up.

"Your mistake," he said crisply. "There's nothing but old letters in
that pocket."

The youth at the first alarm tried to wrench loose, writhing in
startled effort like a pronged snake, with all his smooth, vicious
face clenched in violent fear. Raleigh gave a twisting jerk to the
skinny wrist and the struggle was over; the lad uttered a yelp and
collapsed back on the seat.

"Be good," warned Raleigh in easy French; "be good, or I'll beat you,
d'you hear?"

The youth sniffed, staring at him with eyes in which a mere foolish
fear was giving place to cunning. He was a creature flimsy as paper,
a mere lithe skinful of bones, in whom the wit of the thief supplied
the place of strength. He was making now his hasty estimate of the
man he had to deal with.

"Well," demanded Raleigh, "what have you got to say for yourself?"

"Monsieur!" the youth struck into an injured whine. "I meant no harm,
but I was desperate; I have not eaten today" his eyes noted the
amused contempt on Raleigh's face, and he poise