ll of you who interfered. I was sorry for little
Flossie--but she knew the risk she ran. We had to stop you, induce
Duncombe to leave Paris, and knock on the head a fool of an English
detective for fear he might discover something. Monsieur Pelham was
getting into danger, but, of course, it is all over now. To-morrow we
are bringing Guy into Paris."

Spencer nodded.

"Where is Duncombe?" he asked.

"Back in Paris," De Bergillac answered. "Arrived here with me to-day. He
is much in love with the beautiful sister. Alas! It was to him that she
entrusted the missing page of that treaty which she found in her
brother's luggage. Some day I must tell you of my adventures in England
last night, when I went over to get it and found Louis a little ahead of
me."

"Some day," Spencer murmured, writing for dear life, with the
perspiration streaming down his forehead. "My dear Vicomte, do you mind
ringing the bell? I want my servant. I must telegraph my paper to warn
them of this. They must clear two columns of type for me."

The Vicomte did as he was asked. Then he turned towards the door.

"I will leave you," he said. "The dust of England is still in my throat.
Absinthe, a bath and dinner! _Au revoir, mon ami!_ Confess that I have
kept the promise which Louis made you. It is what you call a _coup_
this, eh?"

Out on the boulevards the papers were selling like wildfire. The Vicomte
bought one, and sitting down outside a cafe ordered absinthe. The great
headlines attracted him at once. He sipped his absinthe and smiled to
himself.

"The play commences!" he murmured. "I must return to Monsieur Spencer."

Spencer was still working like a madman.

"I must interrupt you for a moment," De Bergillac said. "I have brought
you an evening paper. The Baltic Fleet has sunk half a dozen English
fishing-boats and the whole country is in a frenzy. It is the
beginning."

Spencer nodded.

"Leave the paper, there's a good fellow," he said. "I will look it
through presently. If there is time--if there is only time this will be
the greatest night of my life. No other paper has a hint, you say?"

"Not one!"

"If I could put back the clock a single hour," Spencer muttered. "Never
mind! Williams, more sheets!"

De Bergillac took his leave. He had telephoned for his motor, which was
waiting outside. He gave the order to drive to his rooms. On the way he
passed the great pile of buildings in the Louvre. In a room at the
extreme end of t