The impact whipped the head back, and sent the
relaxing body forward and down. It struck the floor, and lay there,
huddled, face down. The woman scrambled to her feet, breathing hard.

"Close the shutters!" said Durkin quickly.

Then he turned the unconscious man over on his back. Then he caught up
a couple of towels and securely tied, first the inert wrists and then
the feet. Quickly knotting a third towel, he wedged and drilled a
sharp knuckle joint into the flesh of the colorless cheek, between the
upper and lower incisors. When the jaw had opened he thrust the knot
into the gaping mouth, securely tying the ends of the towel at the back
of the neck.

"Have you everything?" whispered Frank, who had once more pinned on the
plumed hat, and was already listening at the panel of the hall door.
There was no time to be lost in talk.

"Yes, I think so."

"Your baggage?"

"My baggage will have to be left, but, God knows, there's little enough
of it!"

He wiped his forehead, and looked down at the bound figure, already
showing signs of returning consciousness. They heard laughter, and the
sound of footsteps passing down the hall without.

Durkin stood beside his wife, and they listened together behind the
closed door.

"Not for a minute--not yet," he whispered. Then he looked at her
curiously.

"I wonder if you know just what a close call that was!"

"Yes, I know," she said, with her ear against the panel.

He peered back at the figure, and took a deep breath.

"And this is only an intermission--this is only an overture, to what we
may have to face! Now's our chance. For the love of heaven, let's get
out of here. We've got hard work ahead of us, at Genoa--and we've got
only till Friday to get there!"

He did not notice her look, her momentary look of mingled reproof and
weariness and disdain.

"Now, quick!" she merely said, as she flung the door open and stepped
out into the hall. Luckily, it was empty, from end to end.

Durkin, with assumed nonchalance, walked quietly away. She waited to
turn the key in the door, and withdrew it from the lock. Then she
followed her husband down the corridor, and a minute or two later
rejoined him in the fragrant and balmy midnight air of Monaco.

CHAPTER IX

THE LARK IN THE RUINS

It was not until Frances Durkin and her husband were installed in an
empty first-class compartment, twining and curling and speeding on
their way to Genoa, that even a c