of very high
standing, I naturally believed the story of his niece's sudden death.
It was not until I found myself in the hospital at St. Malo that I
realized how cleverly I had been tricked. The drug had been
administered to me in just sufficient dose to ensure that my brain
should be affected, and that any story I might afterwards tell should
be discredited.

Happily, however, I had now nearly completely recovered. I was the
third person known to return to their normal senses after a dose of
orosin. Would there be a fourth?

Three further days went past, watchful, anxious days. De Gex was still
at Stretton Street, apparently quite unconscious that his hireling
Sanz was being kept under close surveillance. Another plot was in
progress, without a doubt. Twice again had the elusive Spaniard, who
was such a close friend of the notorious Despujol, visited Stretton
Street.

It seemed, too, that De Gex, though anxious to return to Italy, still
remained in London in the hope that Senor Serrano would arrange for
the immediate transfer of the Count's property.

One could scarcely take up a newspaper without finding that Oswald De
Gex had attended this function or that, for he was apparently courting
the favours of certain high political personages, no doubt with a view
to a place in the next Honours List.

I smiled within myself as I read of all the great man's doings, of his
vast financial interests, of his estates in England and in Italy, and
his assistance to the Ministry of Finance of Spain. Often indeed when
at home I discussed the situation with Hambledon, yet without the
evidence of Gabrielle Tennison we could not act.

Nearly a week had passed since my first meeting with the Spanish
lawyer Serrano. Tito Moroni had apparently returned to Italy, for he
had not been again to Stretton Street. His last visit there had no
doubt resulted in a quarrel with his wealthy client, whom I had
suspicions he was blackmailing, for such would undoubtedly be the
procedure of a blackguard of his calibre. More than once Rivero seemed
anxious to secure the arrest of Mateo Sanz, but I constantly urged him
to remain patient. He frequently begged me to reveal the true extent
of my knowledge, but I always evaded his questions because I was not
yet in a position to make a triumphant coup, and avenge poor
Gabrielle.

Daily, hourly indeed, was she in my thoughts. The letters I received
from Lyons were the reverse of hopeful. The last one