g the inhuman efforts of the
_cocchiere_ to make the most of the poor brute's failing energies. At
last the animal stumbled and fell, nearly pulling the driver off his
perch. It was sad, but he had more than earned his price, for Palermo
lay far behind.

"My horse is done for, signorina," cried the cabman. "It is marvellous
that he--_Corpo di Baccho!_ It is a man!"

Dubois felt that his feminine trappings were no longer a disguise, only
a hindrance. He had torn off jacket, skirt, hat and wig. The frightened
cabman saw his fare--changed now into an athletic young man, attired in
shirt and trousers, the latter rolled up to his knees--spring from the
vehicle and vault over a ditch by the roadside.

Some portion of the discarded clothing lay on the seat of the carriage,
but Dubois had thrown the skirt over his arm.

"Here! Come back!" yelled the Italian. "What about payment for my dead
horse?"

But Dubois paid little heed to him. He was fumbling with the pocket of
the skirt as he ran. Not until he had withdrawn a revolver from its
folds--whereupon he at once threw away the garment--did the maddening
remembrance come to him that he unloaded the weapon prior to the Customs
examination, and had forgotten to reinsert the cartridges.

They were in the pocket of his serge coat, the coat which Mademoiselle
wore. She, like a prudent young woman, had been careful to reload the
revolver she carried, and which she transferred to her new attire when,
at the last moment, Dubois suggested the exchange of clothing as a final
safeguard in the most unexpected event of police interference with their
landing.

Henri Dubois could not afford to expend his breath in useless curses.
But his eyes scintillated with fiery gleams. He, the man who took no
chances, who foresaw every pitfall and smiled at the devices of outraged
law, to compromise his own safety so foolishly!

For an instant he was tempted to fling the weapon away, but he
controlled the impulse.

"As it is," he thought, "this fellow who is pursuing me may not be
armed, and I can terrorise him if he comes to close quarters."

Moreover, this superlative scoundrel could feel tightly fastened round
his waist a belt containing diamonds worth over a million sterling. Such
a ceinture was worth fighting for, whilst his pocket-book contained
ample funds for all immediate necessities.

If the worst came to the worst he carried a trustworthy clasp knife, and
he was an adept in the sa