ve had a long day's
travelling, and I've a lot to do to-morrow. I think, if you'll excuse
me, old chap, I'll wish you good-night now."

"Good-night," said Maas, taking his hand. "When shall I see you again?
By the way, I hope, if it's any convenience to you, you'll let me put
my rooms at your disposal. But there, I forgot you have your own
magnificent palace to go to. To offer you hospitality would be
superfluous."

"You talk of my house as if I should be likely to go there," said
Browne scornfully. "You know as well as I do that I never enter the
doors. What should I do in a caravanserai like that? No; I am staying
at the usual place in the Place Vendome. Now, good-night once more."

"Good-night," said Maas, and Browne accordingly left the room. When
the swingdoors had closed behind him Maas went back to his chair and
lit another cigarette.

"Our friend Browne is bent upon making a fool of himself," he said to
his cigarette; "and, what is worse, he will put me to a lot of trouble
and inconvenience. At this stage of the proceedings, however, it would
be worse than useless to endeavour to check him. He has got the bit
between his teeth, and would bolt right out if I were to try to bring
him to a standstill. The only thing that can be done, as far as I can
see, is to sit still and watch the comedy, and step in like the god out
of the machine, when all is ready."

Having thus expressed himself, he lit another cigarette, and went off
in search of the supper Browne had declined.

Browne's first night in Paris was destined to prove a restless one.
Whether it was the journey or his visit to the Rue Jacquarie that was
responsible for it, I cannot say; one thing, however, is quite certain:
do what he would, he could not sleep. He tried all the proverbial
recipes in vain. He walked about his room, drank a glass of cold
water, tried to picture sheep jumping over a hedge; but in vain. Do
what he would, the drowsy god would not listen to his appeal. Indeed,
the first beams of the morning sun were stealing into his room before
his eyelids closed. When his man came in to dress him he felt as
drowsy as if he had not closed his eyes all night. He was not going to
lie in bed, however. During breakfast he debated with himself what he
should do with regard to the Rue Jacquarie. Should he loiter about the
streets in the hope of intercepting Katherine when she went abroad? Or
should he take the bull by the horns a