the
thing between us. But if you, and you alone, can identify this man, how
will your part in the business be kept dark?"

"I will tell you how. I have brought several photographs of him, which I
have always kept within reach. These I will give to you, and you can use
them. If possible, I should, however, like to appear, not in the
character of an enemy, but that of a friend. You may think this a low way
of playing the game; but, you know, 'all is fair in love and war.' I want
Miss Beverly to think I am here at this time by chance; that I have tried
to soften your heart toward Dalahaide, and that I come with you, not as
your ally against her, but to offer her and her cause what help I can. Of
course, I shall fail in that effort, and you will win; but the little
comedy will have brought me the girl's gratitude, which is worth all the
world at this ticklish stage of the game. Will you aid me to play the
part on these lines?"

De Letz laughed. "So, I am to be the villain of the piece? Well, I do not
mind. We will stage the play realistically, and I----"

"And you will never regret your role in it," returned Loria.

* * * * *

Before the _Bella Cuba_ left Mentone all probable contingencies of the
mission had been foreseen, and as far as possible provided for, by Roger
Broom, George Trent, and Virginia Beverly, in council. They had talked
over what must be done in case of failure or success, and the only event
which Virginia had not felt able to discuss had been the death of one or
more of the three men concerned in the rescue. They knew that, if the
_Bella Cuba_ should be lucky enough to get away from New Caledonia with
Max Dalahaide on board, the news of the convict's escape would certainly
reach the next port at which they must touch, before they could arrive
there. Virginia's hope had been, after meeting the Countess de Mattos,
that the woman's confession would exculpate Maxime, and that the peace of
his future would be secured by the great _coup_ of "kidnapping" her. But
now this glimpse of brightness seemed likely to prove a mirage. Virginia
was as sure as ever that Manuela de Mattos was Liane Devereux; even Roger
Broom's contrary opinion had been somewhat shaken by the woman's
horrified shriek at sight of Max Dalahaide's white face and tragic eyes
in the moonlight. But the Countess had hardened once more into marble
self-control, and Maxime, after an hour or two on board the yacht, h