o understand the position in which they stood to each other.

"You are travelling with a servant?" she enquired.

"More than a servant--a devoted henchman, Miss Lorne. They say you can't
purchase fidelity for all the money in the world, but I secured the
finest brand of it in the Universe by the simple outlay of two half
crowns. It is the boy of that night on Hampstead Heath--the boy who
stood at the turning point. The Devil didn't get him, you see. He kept
his promise and has been walking the straight road ever since."

She turned round and looked at him; realizing more of the man's
character in that moment than a hundred deeds of bravery, a thousand
acts of gentle courtesy, could ever have made her understand.

"And you took him in?" she said slowly. "You gave him a chance? You
helped him to redeem himself? How good of you."

"How good _for_ me, you mean," he laughed, "It was 'bread on the
waters' with a vengeance, Miss Lorne. I should have lost my life last
night but for that boy."--And told her briefly and airily how the thing
had come to pass.

"Don't think it vindictive of me, but I am sorry, I am very, very sorry
you were not able to hand that dreadful woman, Margot, over to the
authorities, Mr. Cleek," she said, with an expression of great
seriousness. "She is not likely to forget or to forgive what you have
done; and some day, perhaps ... Oh, do be on your guard. It was really
foolhardy to have attempted the thing alone. Surely you might have
appealed for assistance to the Paris police and not only have minimised
your personal risk but made sure of the woman's arrest."

"Not without allowing the authorities to learn exactly what the Baron de
Carjorac was so anxious to keep them _from_ learning, Miss Lorne. They
must have found out what I was after, what really had been lost, if I
had applied to them for assistance. I had either to do the thing alone
or drop the case entirely. And drop it I would not after _you_ had asked
me to accept it, and--Pardon? No, Miss Lorne, I do not know who the
woman Margot really is. Even that name may be fictitious, as was the one
of 'Comtesse de la Tour.' I only know of her that she is one of the
great figures of the Underworld; that money is her game--money alone;
money first, last, and all the time; that her personal history is as
much of a mystery to her closest associates as was--well, no matter;
people of that ilk are not fit subjects to discuss with you. All that I
kno