s captive, and Boris was the last to leave the hall. As
he stood there, he made a little bow of mockery.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I have to thank you for your hospitality and
for your generosity. With your kind permission I will now withdraw."

CHAPTER XXIII

Out into the storm Michael thrust the lady with his murderous hands;
and at once, with an ease his great strength gave him, he tossed her
on his horse, which was tied with others in the court-yard. Then he
swung himself into the saddle, and an instant later, when the rest of
the pack came tumbling out into the night, they were off.

One wanton villain--it was the French gutter-snipe, Virot--paused a
moment to ride up to a window of the hall and discharge his revolver
through the glass. Fortunately his aim was as evil as his intent.
Beyond shattering a priceless vase, the bullet did no damage.

The night was black as pitch, and Michael cursed his horse roundly as
the willing animal, jumping under the spur, grazed the great gate as
he sprang through it. Soon they were all out on the main road, where
the thoroughbred that carried a double burden settled down into a long
swinging stride that fairly devoured the distance, league after
league.

Looking out on the country in the flashes of lightning, Natalie's
heart gave a little jump, for she recognized the high hedges between
which they were running as those that lined the great highway to the
west, which led to the chateau her cousin maintained, a day's journey
distant from his shooting lodge near her own family estate. They were
taking her there, then! And her heart sank at the thought.

Nor was she wrong. For at last, after a cruel ride, in which they
covered the journey in half the usual time, the steaming, panting
horses were urged up a smooth road, which climbed in curves up the
face of a steep hill. Then they came to a small plateau and stopped
soon before a gate on which someone knocked loudly.

Several fierce dogs began baying. Light began to show in the east now,
and Natalie saw a man push open the massive gate. Then, in another
minute, she was in the chateau.

In a waiting-room, which projected over a vast cliff, Boris faced his
captive. As he stood there a woman entered--the red-haired creature
whom Boris had introduced to Paul as his sister.

He beckoned her to draw near.

"This," he said to Natalie, "is Madame Estelle. You see, I have
provided a chaperone," he remarked with something li