ore they went ashore.

"So, you have read: you understand how useless it was?" the
Mauravanian said, joining her again at the deckhouse, where she
stood with the crumpled newspaper in her hand. "His Majesty's purse
cannot be lightened of all that promised sum for any such bungle as
this. Speak quickly; where may we go to talk in safety? I cannot
risk it here--I will not risk it in the train. Must we wait until
we reach Paris, mademoiselle? Or have you a lair of your own here?"

"I have 'lairs,' as you term them, in half the cities of France,
Monsieur le Comte," she answered with a vicious little note of
resentment in her voice. "And I do not work for nothing--no, not I! I
paid for my adherence to his Majesty's Prime Minister and I intend
to be paid for my services to his Majesty's self, even though I have
this once failed. It must be settled, that question, at once and
for all--now--to-night."

"I guessed it would be like that," he answered, with a jerk of his
shoulders. "Where shall it be, then? Speak quickly. They are making
the landing and I must not be seen talking with you after we go
ashore. Where, then?"

"At the Inn of the Seven Sinners--on the Quai d'Lorme--a gunshot
distant. Any cocher will take you there."

"Is it safe?"

"All my 'lairs' are safe, monsieur. It overhangs the water. And if
strangers come, there is a trap with a bolt on the under side. One
way: to the town and the sewers and forty other inns. The other:
to a motor boat, always in readiness for instant use. You could
choose for yourself should occasion come. You will not find the
place shut--my 'lairs' never are. A password? No, there is none--for
any but the Brotherhood. Nor will you need one. You remember old
Marise of the 'Twisted Arm' in Paris? Well, she serves at the Seven
Sinners now. I have promoted Madame Serpice to the 'Twisted Arm'.
She will know you, will Marise. Say to her I am coming shortly. She
and her mates will raise the roof with joy, and--la! la! The gangway
is out. They are calling all ashore. Look for me and my lads close
on your heels when you arrive. Au revoir."

"Au revoir," he repeated, and slipping by went below and made his
way ashore.

She waited that he might get well on his way--that none might by any
possibility associate them--then turning, went down after him and
out to the pier, where her crew were already forgathering; and when
or how she passed the word to them that it was not Paris to-night
but the