egan to merge into oblivion, Rogers, without
releasing his hold, bent over.

"You fool! Did you think I would let you get away with the paper? That I
couldn't see you were about done for?"

He looked at the white face; started to unbutton the coat; as he reached
in, his attention was suddenly arrested; he threw back his head.

"The traps!"

Voices below resounded without.

"So that was your game! Well," savagely, "I think I have settled with
you."

He had but time to run to the rear door, unbolt it and dash out, when a
crashing of woodwork filled the place, and Mr. Gillett looked in.

* * * * *

CHAPTER XX

THE PAPER

When John Steele began to recover, he was dimly aware that he was in a
four-wheeler which rattled along slowly through streets, now slightly
more discernible; by his side sat a figure that stirred when he did;
spoke in crisp, official accents. He, Mr. Steele, would kindly not place
any further obstacles in the way of justice being done; it was useless
to attempt that; the police agent had come well armed, and, moreover,
had taken the precaution for this little journey of providing a cab in
front and one behind, containing those who knew how to act should the
necessity arise.

John Steele heard these words without answering; his throat pained him;
he could scarcely swallow; his head seemed bound around as by a tight,
inflexible band. The cool air, however, gradually revived him; he drank
it in gratefully and strove to think. A realization of what had occurred
surged through his brain,--the abrupt attack at the door; the arrival of
the police agent.

Furtively the prisoner felt his pocket; the memorandum book containing
the paper that had cost so much was gone; he looked at the agent. Had it
been shifted to Mr. Gillett's possession, or, dimly he recalled his
assailant's last words, had Rogers succeeded in snatching the precious
evidence from his breast before escaping? In the latter case, it had,
undoubtedly, ere this, been destroyed; in the former, it would,
presumably, soon be transferred to the police agent's employer. To
regain the paper, if it existed, would be no light task; yet it was the
pivot upon which John Steele's fortunes hung. The principal signer was,
in all likelihood, making his way out of London now; he would, in a few
hours, reach the sea, and after that disappear from the case. At any
rate, John Steele could have nothing to hope from