d betray the fact that we know the gang and the work that
they're planning," Dave returned.

"Would it?" asked Mr. Dorcliffe, looking thoughtful. "Oh, I say! It's
bally hard work to contend with such bounders. Why can't all men fight
in the open?"

"Real men do," Dave answered. "The fellows we are trying to run down
are not real men. Beings who can do wholesale murder for pay are bad
beyond the comprehension of honest men."

"But we're not finding any one that we want to see," complained
Sutton, another of the English party.

"I didn't expect to find that crew on parade," Dave replied, "and I
think it extremely likely that none of them is now in Valetta or on
the Island of Malta."

Then all fell silent, for the leaders of the party had turned in at
one of the cafes most frequented by visitors.

There were but few people at the tables. Glancing across the room Dave
felt a sudden throb of astonishment and disgust.

Hastily rising from a table was a young man who averted his face.

"There's the Count of Surigny!" whispered Dave to Whyte.

An instant later a door at the side of the room closed almost
noiselessly, with the young French nobleman on the other side of it.

"Did you see that fellow?" Dave demanded, hoarsely.

"We did," came the acknowledgment of Dave's group.

"That is Surigny," Darrin informed them. "He is the fellow whom I
saved from suicide at Monte Carlo, and now he is in the ranks of the
men who have planned the worst crime of the twentieth century. Surigny
is now where his follies have placed him--associated with the vilest
creatures who disgrace the name of Man!"

The party had seated themselves at a table where beverages and
refreshments are served. A tireless Italian soprano and a Russian
tenor were grinding out some of the stock music of the place. Two
dancers were waiting to follow them.

The naval officers looked bored. They were not in this cafe for
pleasure, but strictly for business--that of national honor.

A waiter strolled leisurely into the room, looked about, then
approached the table at which the American and English officers were
seated. Dropping a towel at Dave's side, the waiter bent over to pick
it up, at the same time slyly pressing into Dave's hand a piece of
paper.

Holding it under the table and glancing at it, Dave found it carried a
brief message in French. Translated, it read:

"For vital reasons, I beg you to follow the waiter, who can be
trusted, and come t