e. The others,
however, do not know you as I know you, and I have the right to
divulge only certain things to you. Mr. Delora has come to this
country on a mission of peculiar danger. He has a secret in his
possession which is of immense value, and there are others who are not
our friends who know of it. Mr. Delora had a signal at Charing Cross
that there was danger in taking up his residence here. That is why he
slipped away quietly and is lying now in hiding. If monsieur indeed
desires an adventure, I could propose one to him."

"Go ahead, Louis," I said.

"Let it be understood that Mr. Delora has returned.--As I have already
told you, he has not returned. The door of his room is locked, and no
one is permitted to enter. It is believed that to-night an attempt
will be made to force a way into that room and to rob its occupant."

"The room is empty, you say? There is no one there?" I interrupted.

"Precisely, monsieur," Louis said, "but if some one were there who was
strong and brave it might be possible to teach a lesson to those who
have played us false, and who have planned evil things! If that some
one were you, Captain Rotherby, we should consider--Monsieur Decresson
and the others would consider--that your debt to them was paid!"

I whistled softly to myself. I began to see Louis' idea. I was to
enter, somehow or other, the room in which Mr. Delora was supposed to
be, to remain there concealed, and to await this attack which, for
some reason or other, they were expecting. And then, as the
possibilities connected with such an event spread themselves out
before me, my sense of humor suddenly asserted itself, and, to Louis'
amazement, I laughed in his face. I came back from this world of
fanciful figures, of mysterious robberies, of attempted
assassinations, to the world of every-day things. It was Louis--the
_maitre d'hotel,_ the man who had ordered my _Plat du Jour_
and selected my Moselle--who spoke of these things so calmly in my own
sitting-room, with a menu card in his hand, and a morocco-bound wine
list sticking out of his breast pocket. I was not in any imaginary
city but in London,--city of tragedies, indeed, but tragedies of a
homelier sort. It was not possible that such things could be happening
here, in an atmosphere which, through familiarity, had become almost
commonplace. Was I to believe that Louis, my favorite _maitre
d'hotel_, my fellow schemer in many luncheon and dinner parties, my
authorit