foot bent his brows at me.

"What do you suggest then?" he said very sternly.

"You go and recover the two halves at the places I indicate," I
stammered out, "and ... and ..."

A faint whirr and the silver chime rang out twice.

Half an hour more!

How still the house was! I could hear the clock ticking--no, that
thudding must be my heart. My wits failed me, my mind had become a
blank, my throat was dry with fear.

"I've wasted an hour and a half over you, young man," said Clubfoot
suddenly, "and it's time that this conversation was brought to a close.
I warn you again that I am not to be trifled with. The situation is
perfectly clear: it rests with you whether the Countess Rachwitz goes
free or is court-martialled this afternoon at Cleves and shot this
evening. Your suggestion is absurd. I'll be reasonable with you. We will
both stay here. I will wire for the two portions of the letter to be
fetched at the places you indicate, and as soon as I hold the entire
letter in my hands the Countess will be driven to the frontier. I will
allow her butler here to accompany her and he can return and assure you
that she is in safety."

He stretched out his hand and pulled a block of telegraph forms towards
him.

"Where shall we find the two halves?" he said.

"One is in Holland," I murmured.

He looked up quickly.

"If you dare to play me false...."

He broke off when he saw my face.

The room was going round with me. My hands felt cold as ice. I was
struggling for the mastery over myself, but I felt my body swaying.

"Ah!" exclaimed Clubfoot musingly, "that would be Semlin's half.... I
might have known.... Well, never mind, Schmalz can take my car and fetch
it. He can be back by to-morrow. Where is he to go?"

"The other half is in Berlin," I said desperately. My voice sounded to
me like a third person speaking.

"That's simpler," replied Clubfoot. "Ten minutes to twelve now ... if I
wire at once, that half should be here by midnight.... I'll get the
message off immediately...."

He looked up at me, pencil in hand.

It was the end. I had kept faith with Francis to the limit of my powers,
but now my resistance was broken. He had failed me ... not me, but
Monica, rather.... I could not save her now. Like some nightmare film,
the crowded hours of the past few weeks flashed past my eyes, a jostling
procession of figures--Semlin with his blue lips and livid face, Schratt
with her bejewelled hands, the Jew Kore,