."

"I don't know anything about Mr. Saunders's family," said Deppingham
stiffly. Britt looked at him for a moment, puzzled and uncertain. Then
he gave a short, hopeless laugh and said, under his breath:

"Holy smoke!"

He immediately altered the course of the discussion and harked back to
his original declaration that spies abounded in the chateau. When he
finally called the conference adjourned and prepared to depart, he
calmly turned to the stenographer.

"Did you get all this down, Miss Pelham?"

"Yes, Mr. Britt."

"Good!" Then he went away, leaving the quartette unconsciously depressed
by the emphasis he placed upon that single word.

The next day but one, it was announced that the Enemy had moved into the
bungalow. Signs of activity about the rambling place could be made out
from the hanging garden at the chateau. It was necessary, however, to
employ the binoculars in the rather close watch that was kept by the
interested aristocrats below. From time to time the grey, blue or
white-clad figure of the Enemy could be seen directing the operations of
the natives who were engaged in rehabilitating Wyckholme's "nest."

The chateau was now under the very eye of the Enemy.

CHAPTER X

THE AMERICAN BAR

"You're wanted at the 'phone, Mr. Britt," said Miss Pelham. It was late
in the evening a day or two afterward. Britt went into the booth. He was
not in there long, but when he came out he found that Miss Pelham had
disappeared. The coincidence was significant; Mr. Saunders was also
missing from his seat on the window-sill at the far end of the long
corridor. Britt looked his disgust, and muttered something
characteristic. Having no one near with whom he could communicate, he
boldly set off for the hanging garden, where Deppingham had installed
the long-idle roulette paraphernalia. The quartette were placing
prospective rubies and sapphires on the board, using gun-wads in lieu of
the real article.

Britt's stocky figure came down through the maze of halls, across the
vine-covered bridge and into the midst of a transaction which involved
perhaps a hundred thousand pounds in rubies.

"Say," he said, without ceremony, "the Enemy's in trouble. Bowles just
telephoned. There's a lot of excitement in the town. I don't know what
to make of it."

"Then why the devil are you breaking in here with it?" growled
Deppingham, who was growing to hate Britt with an ardour that was
unmanageable.

"This'll int