a second, pale with alarm, Ralph Ansell glanced around the room.

Suddenly an idea suggested itself. He was always resourceful.

Next moment he dashed across to the door and locked it, afterwards
rushing to the door which led into the bedroom--the room in which his
friend was bathing his wound. There was a bolt upon the door, and this
he slipped, thus imprisoning the man who was, as yet, unconscious of
danger.

Then, crossing to where Adolphe's jacket hung, he quickly drew out the
twenty-five thousand francs in notes and placed them in his own pocket.

He held his breath and listened. As yet, all was quiet, save for a man's
rough voice below. He was apparently in conversation with Mme. Brouet's
husband.

That was sufficient for Ansell.

Quickly he pushed away the table from the centre of the room, and,
kicking aside the Japanese grass-mats, there was revealed in the floor a
trap-door with an iron ring in it.

Without more ado he lifted the heavy flap, disclosing the cavernous
darkness of a kind of shaft which led to the cellar, whence there was a
secret exit into a neighbouring street. Placing his foot upon the first
rung of the rickety ladder, he quickly disappeared, closing the flap
after him and bolting it from beneath.

Thus Adolphe, robbed and imprisoned by the man he had trusted so
implicitly, was left to his fate.

Scarcely had the fugitive, carrying with him the whole of the booty,
closed down the flap in the floor when Adolphe, whose hand was very
painful and bleeding profusely, suddenly heard the voices below.

He started, crept to the window, and looked cautiously down into the
courtyard.

Two men were there--men whom he instantly recognised as police agents in
plain clothes.

"The Eel" listened for a second, then dashed to the door to warn Ralph.

He turned the handle, but, to his surprise and dismay, found the door
bolted.

"Ralph! Ralph!" he cried. "Are you there? Quick! Let me in! The police!"

There was no response.

"Ralph!" he repeated. "Quick! The police are below!"

And he tugged frantically at the door. But it was securely fastened.

He was caught--like a rat in a trap!

Bending, he peered through the keyhole, surprised to discover that the
table had been moved. He could see, too, that the matting had been cast
aside, revealing the trap-door. That house had long been the abode of
thieves. Bonnemain himself had lived in those same rooms for six years,
and he had had the secret