he thieves. They're as clever as paint! They have to be, for
if they are caught it means ten to twenty years' imprisonment for them,
as they know. Mustn't it be awful to live in such a state of risk and
uncertainty, never knowing when you're going to be found out, for, of
course, there are plenty of detectives on the watch for illicit buying
all the time?"

"Awful--yes, but terribly exciting," Rosanne said musingly. "Don't you
think so?" she added quickly, and began to pull on her gloves.

"Ah, don't go, yet!" cried Kitty. "Len will be dreadfully disappointed
to find you gone."

"Tell him you told me the story," laughed Rosanne. "That will cheer
him up."

"I don't think I shall," said Kitty soberly. "I'm afraid he'd be
awfully mad with me, after all, even though it is only you I've told.
He'll say women can't keep things to themselves, and that you're sure
to tell someone else, and so the whole thing will get about."

"You needn't worry, dear. It will never get about through me," said
Rosanne quietly, and, kissing Kitty good-night, she went her ways.

As she passed through the brightly lit outer compound, stepping briskly
toward the big gate, she was aware of more than one lurking shadow
behind the blue-ground heaps. Also, it seemed to her that various
guards were more alert than usual in their guardhouses. But she gave
no faintest sign of observing these things, greeted the guard at the
gate pleasantly, and, passing out to the street, stepped into the
waiting carriage and was driven home. It wanted a few minutes to
midnight when she stole from the veranda door of her room once more,
dressed in her dim, straight gown of moonlight velvet with a swathe of
colourless veil about her head and, sliding softly through the garden,
went out into the quiet streets of the town until she came, at last, to
a little indistinguished door next to a jeweller's window, whereon was
neatly inscribed the name, "Syke Ravenal." On knocking gently three
times, the door opened mechanically to admit her. Inside all was dark;
but a few paces down a passage brought her to a door that opened into a
small but brightly lighted room. An elderly man was seated at a table
engaged in beautifully illuminating a parchment manuscript. This was
Syke Ravenal.

"You are very late, my child," he said, in a gently benevolent tone.
His voice was rich and sonorous.

"It was not safe to come before."

"Safe?" His dark, hawk-like face did