a sense of terrible irony, was flung out into the night in the
harsh, determined voice of Madame Wachner.

They saw her stout figure, filling up most of the window, outlined
against the lighted room. She was leaning out, peering into the garden
with angry, fear-filled eyes.

Both men stopped simultaneously, but neither answered her.

"Who goes there?" she repeated; and then, "I fear, Messieurs, that you
have made a mistake. You have taken this villa for someone else's house!"
But there was alarm as well as anger in her voice.

"It is I, Paul de Virieu, Madame Wachner."

The Count spoke quite courteously, his agreeable voice thickened, made
hoarse by the strain to which he had just subjected it.

"I have brought Mr. Chester with me, for we have come to fetch Mrs.
Bailey. In Paris Mr. Chester found news making her return home to England
to-morrow a matter of imperative necessity."

He waited a moment, then added, raising his voice as he spoke: "We have
proof that she is spending the evening with you," and he walked on
quickly to where he supposed the front door to be.

"If they deny she is there," he whispered to his companion, "we will
shout for the gendarmes and break in. But I doubt if they will dare to
deny she is there unless--unless--"

He had hoped to hear Sylvia's voice, but Madame Wachner had shut the
window, and a deathly silence reigned in the villa.

The two men stood in front of the closed door for what seemed to them a
very long time. It was exactly two minutes; and when at last the door
opened, slowly, and revealed the tall, lanky figure of L'Ami Fritz, they
both heard the soft, shuffling tread of the gendarmes closing in round
the house.

"I pray you to come in," said Monsieur Wachner in English, and then,
addressing Bill Chester,

"I am pleased to see you, sir, the more so that your friend, Mrs. Bailey,
is indisposed. A moment ago, to our deep concern, she found herself quite
faint--no doubt from the heat. I will conduct you, gentlemen, into the
drawing-room; my wife and Mrs. Bailey will join us there in a minute,"
and only then did he move back sufficiently to allow the two men to cross
the threshold.

Paul de Virieu opened his lips--but no sound came from them. The sudden
sense of relief from what had been agonised suspense gripped him by the
throat.

He brushed past Wachner, and made straight for the door behind which he
felt sure of finding the woman whom some instinct told him he ha