e. I require your services as intermediary between myself and some
men who have come to see me on business. These men whom I wish you to
see are Russians," he added, I fancied as an afterthought, "but they
speak English fluently."

I suppose that I looked just as I felt--somewhat dubious owing to the
lateness of the hour and the darkness of the night, not to speak of
the abominable weather, for he continued with marked impatience:

"It is imperative that you should come at once. Though my house is at
some little distance from here, I have a chaise outside which will
also bring you back, and," he added significantly, "I will pay you
whatever you demand."

"It is very late," I demurred, "the weather--"

"Your fee, man!" he broke in roughly, "and let's get on!"

"Five hundred francs," I said at a venture.

"Come!" was his curt reply. "I will give you the money as we drive
along."

I wished I had made it a thousand; apparently my services were worth a
great deal to him. However, I picked up my mantle and my hat, and
within a few seconds was ready to go. I shouted up to Mme. Bournon
that I would not be home for a couple of hours, but that as I had my
key I need not disturb her when I returned.

Once outside the door I almost regretted my ready acquiescence in this
nocturnal adventure. The rain was beating down unmercifully, and at
first I saw no sign of a vehicle; but in answer to my visitor's sharp
command I followed him down the street as far as the market square, at
the corner of which I spied the dim outline of a carriage and a couple
of horses.

Without wasting too many words, M. Ernest Berty bundled me into the
carriage, and very soon we were on the way. The night was impenetrably
dark and the chaise more than ordinarily rickety. I had but little
opportunity to ascertain which way we were going. A small lanthorn
fixed opposite to me in the interior of the carriage, and flickering
incessantly before my eyes, made it still more impossible for me to
see anything outside the narrow window. My companion sat beside me,
silent and absorbed. After a while I ventured to ask him which way we
were driving.

"Through the town," he replied curtly. "My house is just outside
Divonne."

Now, Divonne is, as I knew, quite close to the Swiss frontier. It is a
matter of seven or eight kilometres--an hour's drive at the very
least in this supremely uncomfortable vehicle. I tried to induce
further conversation, but made no he