repeated the other.

"There is a house called Bishopsholme."

"Bishopsholme," repeated the other.

"It is empty--to let, _a louer_, you understand. It is in a sad state of
desolation. The garden, the house--you know the kind of place?"

"Perfectly, monsieur."

"At nine o'clock to-night and at nine o'clock to-morrow night you will
be near the door. There is a large clump of bushes, behind which you
will stand. You will stay there until ten. Between those hours M. White
will approach and go into the house. You understand?"

"Perfectly, monsieur," said the voice again.

"You will shoot him so that he dies immediately."

"He is a dead man," said the other.

There was a long pause.

"I will pay you sixty thousand francs, and I will have a motor-car to
take you direct to Dover. You will catch the night boat for Ostend. Your
passport will be in order, and you can make your way to Paris at your
leisure. The payment you will receive in Paris. Is that satisfactory?"

"Eminently so, monsieur," said the other. "I need a little for expenses
for the moment. Also I wish information as to where the motor-car will
meet me."

"It will be waiting for you at the corner of the first road past the
house, on the way from London. You will not speak to the chauffeur and
he will not speak to you. In the car you will find sufficient money for
your immediate needs. Is there any necessity to explain further?"

"None whatever, monsieur," said the soft voice, and Raoul dropped his
head on one side as though he were sleeping.

As for the colonel, he did not simulate slumber, but passed into
dreamland, sleeping quietly and calmly, with a look of benevolence upon
his big face.

The only other occupant of the cooling room, a big-framed man who was
reading a newspaper, closed his eyes too--but he did not sleep.

CHAPTER XVII

SOLOMON COMES BACK

At nine o'clock that night the colonel, in immaculate evening-dress, sat
playing double-dummy bridge with his two companions. In the light of the
big shaded lamp overhead there was something particularly peaceful and
innocent in their occupation. No word was spoken save of the game.

It was a quarter to nine, noted the colonel, looking at the little
French clock on the mantelpiece. He rose, walked to the window and
looked out. It was a stormy night and the wind was howling down the
street, sending the rain in noisy splashes against the window panes. He
grumbled his satisfaction and