n, when the private door into the bar
opened and Mlle. Beaucaire entered.

Without taking the least notice of any of the numerous occupants of the
cafe she turned her back on them, and apparently busied herself in
checking the contents of the cash register. Beyond this useful
instrument was a mirror, and Brett at once perceived that from the point
where she stood she could command a distinct reflection of the
pink-and-white Frenchman.

The latter was gazing at the clock, and whilst doing so stroked his chin
three times with his right hand. Immediately afterwards La Belle
Chasseuse three times rang the bell of the register, and then, having
apparently concluded her inspection, quitted the bar as unceremoniously
as she had entered. Half a minute later the Frenchman finished the
remains of his cognac, lit another cigarette, and passed into the
street.

It was with difficulty that Brett restrained himself from following him,
but he was certain that no one could leave the residential portion of
the building without using the passage--a view of which he commanded
from his window--and he resolutely resolved to devote himself for that
night to shadowing the movements of the ex-circus lady.

His patience and self-denial were soon rewarded. A light quick step
sounded in the passage, and a shrouded female form shot past the open
window.

Then the inebriated individual, now hopelessly muddled by drink,
staggered towards the door and lurched wildly round the corner, just in
time to see mademoiselle cross the Boulevard and daintily make her way
between the rows of stalls.

The air seemed, however, to have a surprising effect on the old
reprobate, for the simple reason that to simulate drunkenness and at the
same time keep pace with the lady's rapid strides was out of the
question.

La Belle Chasseuse was evidently in a hurry. She sped along at a
surprising pace, until she reached a crossing where the rows of stalls
and booths were temporarily suspended. At one corner stood a cab, and
towards this vehicle she directed her steps. Before Brett quite realized
what was happening, the door of the cab opened, mademoiselle jumped
inside, and, as if he were waiting for her appearance, the driver
whipped up his horse and drove off at a furious pace.

At that instant a small victoria with a sturdy pony in the shafts, which
had just deposited a lively fare in the vicinity of the Moulin Rouge,
drove along the street.

Brett sprang in