shness.

"I will atone," Monsieur Louis faltered. "It was a single false step."

De Bergillac looked down upon him with unspeakable contempt.

"Atone! Listen, Louis! In this country you are safe. Crawl away into
some hiding-place and make what you will of the rest of your days, but I
will promise you this. If ever you set your feet upon one inch of France
you shall meet with your deserts. There are many things which those who
play the great game must pardon, but there is one crime for which no
atonement is possible, and you have committed it. You are a traitor!"

De Bergillac turned away. The effeminacy of his manner seemed to have
disappeared under the strain of his extreme anger. It was his race,
after all, which had asserted itself. And then the door was thrown
suddenly open and a wild-looking figure confronted them.

It was Duncombe, muddy from head to foot, pale and with a slight wound
upon the temple, from which the blood had trickled down his face. He saw
the open safe, and Monsieur Louis a pitiful figure, and he did not
hesitate. He scarcely glanced at the others. He strode forward and
seized the Baron by the collar.

"Give me back what you have stolen, you blackguard!" he exclaimed.

Monsieur Louis was breathless. It was the young Vicomte who interposed.

"Our friend," he remarked suavely, "has not been successful in his
little effort. The document he came to purloin is in my pocket, and
here, Sir George, is my warrant for retaining possession of it."

He held out a note which Duncombe took and read with a little sigh of
relief.

"Good!" he exclaimed. "You have the document?"

De Bergillac tapped his breast-pocket.

"It is here," he said.

Duncombe turned to Monsieur Louis.

"My arrest, then," he remarked, "was part of the game?"

"Exactly!" De Bergillac answered. "This little document entrusted to
your care by the young English lady was worth one million francs to the
man who suborned our friend here. It was worth while--this little
enterprise. The pity of it is that it has failed. Sir George, I go to
Paris to-night. I offer you a safe conduct if you care to accompany me.
_L'affaire Poynton_ does not exist any more."

"Can you give me ten minutes to change my clothes?" Duncombe asked
eagerly.

"No more," De Bergillac answered. "I will get rid of our friend here."

There was a knock at the door. Groves entered with coffee. At the sight
of his master he nearly dropped the tray.

"It's all