AT the same hour that Richard Duvall was arranging with Mr. Stapleton his plan for the capture of the kidnappers the following day, Grace was closeted with Monsieur Lefevre, the Prefect of Police, in the latter's library, going over the affair in all its details. The Prefect was speaking, ticking off on his fingers the points in the case as he proceeded.
"First, we have the impossible story of the nurse, Mary Lanahan. She seems to be telling the truth; yet I believe she is lying. In my opinion, she is deeply concerned in the whole matter."
"But what about the attempt to poison her?"
"It is highly probable that she poisoned herself, taking a slight dose only. This would divert suspicion from her."
"I see."
"Then we have the case of Alphonse Valentin, and the mysterious gold-tipped cigarettes. Yourhusband, Monsieur Duvall, I am informed, has found one of these cigarettes, partly smoked, on the grass at the scene of the crime. This might indicate that Valentin was there, with her, on some occasion, but not necessarily on the day the kidnapping occurred. It might readily have been the day before—or the week before, for that matter."
"I thought of that," remarked Grace, quietly. "It seems to me that Richard attached too much importance to the matter."
"That remains to be seen. Now, supposing Valentin to be concerned, with the nurse, in the plot. He of course does not think, at the start, that the possession of the cigarettes would involve him in the affair, because he does not know that Monsieur Duvall has found the one in the grass. Your husband, however, asks Mary Lanahan what kind of cigarettes Valentin smokes. She at once becomes suspicious, and at the first opportunity warns Valentin, by letter, to destroy them. That shows clearly that they are working together."
"Undoubtedly. But meanwhile the cigarettes are stolen from Valentin's room by a man with a dark beard, who subsequently enters Mr. Stapleton'shouse. For that, I confess, I can find no explanation."
"Nor I. The destruction of the cigarettes could be of no importance to anyone, except to the kidnappers themselves. It is of course possible that someone else in Mr. Stapleton's house—François, for instance—is concerned in the plot."
"But the man who took the cigarettes had a black beard, while François is smooth shaven."
"I know. But it might have been a disguise."
"I do not think so. The man I saw was taller than François, and not so heavily built."
The Prefect considered the matter for a moment. "You are certain that he entered the Stapleton's house?"
"Absolutely certain. I saw the gate close behind him."
"Then I can only say that, so far, the matter is inexplicable. Now let us come back to Valentin. He claims to be working to capture the kidnappers—in order to clear the nurse, whom he loves."
"That is as I understand it."
"He denies that he smokes, yet offers no explanationof the presence of the cigarettes in his room."
"None. Further, someone sends a note to Valentin, advising him that the writer is suspicious of François—suggesting that he watch him. Can this mean that François is in the plot, and they fear he may be weakening—preparing to turn against them?"
"It certainly looks that way."
"I wish I could see one of these famous cigarettes."
Grace laughed suddenly. "Why," she exclaimed, "I have one in my pocketbook. I had quite forgotten it." She opened her purse and took out the slender white cylinder.
Lefevre examined the thing closely. "An Egyptian cigarette of American make," he mused. "Expensive, here in Paris, and rarely used, except by Americans."
"That is true; yet I understand that this man Valentin has lived a great deal in America."
For a moment the Prefect did not reply. Then a puzzled look crossed his face. "This is a woman's cigarette," he exclaimed. "No man would smoke such a thing." He brought his hand down sharply upon his knee. "My girl,it is not impossible that the child was stolen not by a man at all, but by a woman."
"A woman, apparently, that both Valentin and the nurse are trying to shield."
The Prefect sat for a moment buried in thought. Then he glanced at Grace keenly. "It seems to me," he remarked, in a quiet tone, "that we should endeavor to determine whether or not Mrs. Stapleton is in the habit of using cigarettes."
"Mrs. Stapleton!" gasped Grace, in amazement.
"Yes. I confess the idea is a new one, to me; but it may prove of interest."
"But why should the boy's mother wish to kidnap him?"
"I do not know. There is but one point of significance. During the past week my men have, naturally, questioned Mrs. Stapleton closely as to her movements during the past two or three months. They did this, to determine, if possible, whether the criminals were of Paris, or from some other place, where Mrs. Stapleton may have been, with the child, during the past winter. You know these fellows work in bands, and have their regular field of operations."
"I see. And where had she been?"
"Monte Carlo!" The Prefect uttered the two words significantly.
Grace was quick to grasp his meaning.
"Then you mean that possibly Mrs. Stapleton may have lost large sums at the gambling tables, and, fearing to tell her husband of her losses, has enlisted the services of the nurse, and of her friend Valentin, and spirited the child away for a few weeks, in order to get the sum of one hundred thousand dollars from her husband without his knowledge?"
"It is by no means impossible. I would recommend that you investigate the matter thoroughly. If we find that Mrs. Stapleton uses gold-tipped cigarettes of this variety, it may go far toward a solution of the whole affair."
Grace, remembering Mrs. Stapleton's grief-stricken appearance, felt that the clue was a very slender one, but determined to follow it up, nevertheless.
"Now," went on the Prefect, "we come to the sudden and most unexpected appearance of Valentin, clinging to the rear of the automobile that brought you back to Paris tonight."
"As I have told you, he claims to have clambered into Mr. Stapleton's car."
"Driven by François?"
"Yes."
"And you say the man who drove the car had a black beard—the same man, in fact, who broke into Valentin's room and stole the cigarettes?"
"Yes."
"Then either Valentin is lying, or the man with the black beard is François. Let us look at his story from both sides. If he is telling the truth, then François is one of the kidnappers."
"So it would seem. You are having him watched, you say?"
"Yes. My men report that he did leave the house, in Mr. Stapleton's automobile tonight, at about nine o'clock. That would seem to agree with Valentin's story. They also report that he returned about eleven, alone."
"They did not follow him?"
"No. It is impossible to do so, in another car, without arousing his suspicion, and putting him on his guard. We do not wish him to know that he is being watched."
"But Mr. Stapleton must know where he has been—why the car was out."
"Yes. We have questioned him. He says the man reported that the gasolene tank was leaking,and that he ordered him to have it repaired at once."
"And was it repaired?"
The Prefect smiled. "Yes. The car was at a garage in the Boulevard St. Michel from half past nine until half past ten."
Grace fell back, astonished. "Then Valentin is lying!" she cried.
"So it seems; unless, of course, François took out another car from the garage, while his own was being fixed."
"They would know that at the garage."
"They deny it. But these fellows all hang together. They would think nothing of protecting a brother chauffeur, in the matter of a little joy ride."
"Valentin says nothing about this, in his story."
"He may have omitted it, as an unimportant detail. I mean that he may have slipped into the second car, as he did into the first, without being observed. It was dark of course. He may not have thought it necessary to mention it. All this, of course, is on the assumption that he is telling the truth. Now let us say that he is lying—that the man with the black beard is not François,but someone else concerned, with Valentin in the plot. What is the purpose of his tale?"
"I cannot imagine. Can you, Monsieur?"
"No, not immediately. The first contradiction, of course, is this. If Valentin and the man with the black beard are working together, why should the latter have broken into his room to get the cigarettes?"
"There seems no sense to it."
"Yet he may have realized the danger of the cigarettes being in Valentin's possession, and instead of trying to warn him simply came and took them away. It is not a particularly plausible explanation; but let us admit it, for the moment, in order to get ahead with our reasoning. Suppose Valentin, the man with the black beard, and Mary Lanahan, the nurse, to be all working together, either with Mrs. Stapleton, or with outside parties. They have the child safely hidden. They abduct you, and send the message to Mr. Stapleton through you. They do not trust you, knowing, no doubt, that you are an agent of my office. They send Valentin along, on the back of the machine, to pretend to be an enemy of theirs trying, like yourself, to recover the child. He thus gets into your confidence. He advisesyou to report your message from the kidnappers to Mr. Stapleton at once. He questions you, and learns that you do not know the location of the house where the child is hidden. He then offers to show you as nearly as he can where the house is located. If he is in league with the kidnappers, he will take you, and the men whom tomorrow I shall send with you, to some location miles removed from the actual point where the child is concealed, and you will waste the day in a useless search. Decidedly it would be a clever move on their part."
"It certainly would."
"Further, you told this fellow that you had a plan to capture the scoundrels. You are to acquaint him with that plan, tomorrow afternoon. If you do so, he will no doubt get to the telephone on some pretext and warn his comrades of what you intend to do. I strongly recommend that you put no faith in the fellow whatever."
"Still, you would advise trying to locate the house, as he suggests?"
"Yes, we may be wrong about him. We must leave no stone unturned. And now we come to your interview with Mr. Stapleton. You gave him the message, of course. What did he say?"
"He said that he intended to carry out the instructions I gave him to the letter—pay these fellows their money, and get back the boy."
Monsieur Lefevre uttered an exclamation of anger. "Sacré! He must not do that! The stupid fellow! He will spoil everything!"
Grace laughed quietly to herself. "Hardly stupid, Monsieur! The poor man is half mad over the boy's loss. He will do anything, to get him back. I can scarcely blame him."
The Prefect held out his hand. "I beg your pardon, my child. You are right. It is perhaps but natural for him to feel as he does. But there are other things at stake, than the recovery of the child. For Monsieur Stapleton to pay over this huge sum to these criminals, and then to allow them to escape, is not only a grave reflection upon the efficiency of the Paris police, but is an injustice to the public as well. If these men are successful in this attempt, they will make others. Other children will be stolen. I cannot permit it. It must be prevented at all costs. These men must be brought to justice."
"How can you prevent it, Monsieur? Mr. Stapleton is determined."
"That, my child, is the question. I cannot stopMonsieur Stapleton if he wishes to drive out the road to Versailles and toss a hundred thousand dollars into the first automobile that passes him, showing a blue light." He rose and began to walk up and down the room.
"I have a plan, Monsieur," said Grace, quietly.
"What is it, my child?" The Prefect regarded her with an indulgent smile. He was very fond of Grace. He regretted that he had been unable to secure the services of her husband in this case. He knew, from past experience, her cleverness; but he did not believe that in a matter of this sort she would be able to outwit men who were probably among the shrewdest criminals in Paris.
"First," said Grace, "we will have the location pointed out to us by Valentin thoroughly searched."
"Assuredly! It will, however, probably result in nothing. Even if Valentin is telling the truth, these fellows will beyond question have moved the child before now to prepare for the work of tomorrow evening."
"Possibly. At any rate, we will try. After that, I shall want Valentin to drive a motor car for me. He is an accomplished chauffeur."
"You will take him into your confidence, then?" asked the Prefect, in some alarm.
"No. I shall tell him nothing, except that he is to drive the car, and where."
"Very well. But be careful. What next?"
Grace leaned over and spoke to the Prefect in low tones for several minutes. He listened to what she said, occasionally smiling, and nodding his head. Presently he brought his hand down sharply upon the table. "Bravo!" he exclaimed. "You were born to be a detective. We will get the kidnappers, the money, and in all probability the child as well. I congratulate you!"
"You think it will work, then?"
"I do not see how it can fail. It is an inspiration. I shall certainly feel very well satisfied indeed, if I can return to Monsieur Stapleton both his child and his money, and at the same time place the kidnappers behind the bars. I could never permit it to be said that the police of Paris would knowingly allow a desperate band of criminals to get away with half a million of francs without lifting a hand to prevent it." He rose and glanced at his watch. "Come, my child. It is after midnight. You have had a long and exciting day. You had better get some rest."
Grace rose. "Richard seemed awfully puzzled when he saw me."
"Did he?" The Prefect laughed mischievously. "Really it is a great joke upon him. To be within a step of his own wife, and not to know her!"
Grace seemed scarcely to appreciate the humor of the situation. "I think it's a shame," she said, "Poor Richard. He'll never forgive me. I really think I ought to tell him."
Monsieur Lefevre shook his head. "If you do that, my dear child, everything will be spoiled. He will insist upon your dropping the case at once, and that would certainly not be fair to me."
"But, Monsieur, after all, you really do not need me, with all the clever men you have upon your staff."
"Who knows? Perhaps you may succeed, where they will fail. I have great faith in the intuition of a woman. And already you have advanced the case further in forty-eight hours than my men have done in ten days. It was a chance, I will admit, that these rascals should have chosen you to deliver their demands to Monsieur Stapleton. I confess I do not understand their reasons for doing so. They musthave known that besides telling your story to him, you would also tell it to me. It may have been sheer bravado on their part—it is a characteristic, I have noted, in many criminals. They seem to glory in defying the police. These fellows, no doubt, think that they have matters so arranged that capture is impossible. I think we shall give them a little surprise."
He turned to the door, and held it open, allowing Grace to pass into the hall. "Good night, my child," he called out to her, as she began to ascend the stairs. "I think I will smoke one more cigar."
As for Grace, she lay awake a long time, thinking of Richard, of their home in the country, of the happy hours they had spent there—before this unexpected interruption to their honeymoon. It seemed very queer to her, to be lying there, alone. She had not gotten used to it. And somewhere, in this big city, Richard was also sleeping—and she not with him! The excitement of the affair was beginning to die out. The meeting with Richard on the boat, which she had planned when she set out from home, had not materialized. She had postponed this meeting, in her thoughts, until his arrival in Paris, and now—he had come, and stillshe had not been able so much as to touch his hand. She finally went to sleep, devoutly praying that tomorrow, and the capture of the kidnappers, would mark the end of their needless and cruel separation.
PROMPTLY at eight o'clock the next evening Mr. John Stapleton left his house in the Avenue Kleber, in a big French touring car, with François at the wheel.
The car presented no points of peculiarity, being like a thousand others to be seen any evening upon the streets of Paris. It was of large size, high powered, and painted a green so dark as to be almost black.
Mr. Stapleton sat in the tonneau, wearing a dark blue serge suit, and a Panama hat. In his left hand he clutched a small package, about the size of a cigar box. In the package were banknotes amounting to one hundred thousand dollars.
Close beside his right foot lay a rubber bulb, from which a short pipe extended through a hole bored in the side of the car. The end of the pipe held a small brass nozzle. It projected but a short distance beyond the body of the car, andin the dim light of early evening was quite invisible.
Mr. Stapleton told his chauffeur to drive out the road toward Versailles. "I feel like getting some fresh air," he added. "It's rather warm, tonight." Inwardly he was burning up with excitement.
From Paris to Versailles is a matter of some fourteen miles. Mr. Stapleton's car proceeded slowly. He wanted to run no chances of missing the car with the blue light.
At the Porte de Versailles he paused long enough to see Richard Duvall, standing in the shadow of the gateway. Then he passed outside of Paris.
There were many automobiles and other vehicles on the road. The evening was a pleasant one, and all Paris seemed out taking the air. The majority of the vehicles were coming toward the city. He observed a car, some distance behind him, containing a single occupant, a man of middle age, but paid no attention to it. His eyes were strained to detect in the cars approaching him some evidence of the signal light which was to rouse him to sudden action.
He noticed that François, like himself, wascarefully scrutinizing each car as it approached them. He wondered if the chauffeur could have any idea of the purpose of his expedition; but presently dismissed the thought as entirely unlikely, and devoted himself to the passing cars.
He had proceeded perhaps four or five miles beyond the fortifications, when he saw a large car approaching slowly from the direction of Versailles. It contained but two persons, the chauffeur, and a heavily veiled woman.
The chauffeur, who was keenly observing the machine in which Mr. Stapleton sat, began to swerve to the right side of the road, so as to pass as closely to the banker's car as possible. At the same moment there showed through the gathering darkness a brilliant spot of blue light in the tonneau where sat the woman.
Mr. Stapleton was on his feet in an instant. The two cars approached each other rapidly. It was necessary for him to act with great quickness. He shifted the package containing the money from his left hand to his right, and a moment later had tossed it lightly into the other car.
He saw at once that it landed safely within, and at the same instant he pressed his foot down hard upon the rubber bulb. In a moment the car withthe blue light had swept past, and was disappearing rapidly in the direction of Paris.
Mr. Stapleton leaned forward and addressed François in a voice which quivered with excitement. "Drive home at once," he commanded.
In a moment he was following the first car toward the city.
He did not notice, as he swept down the darkening road, the car which had been following him all the way from Paris. It continued on its way toward Versailles. In it were two people. At the wheel sat a man who bore, in the semi-darkness, a striking resemblance to François, Mr. Stapleton's chauffeur, while in the rear sat a figure, in dark suit and Panama hat, which seemed for all the world like that of the banker himself. Had a casual observer not seen Mr. Stapleton turn back toward Paris, he would have concluded that he was still on his way toward Versailles.
The occupants of this second car also appeared to be keenly watching the various automobiles which passed them, as though expecting some signal, some recognition; yet, in spite of their eager and expectant glances, they seemed doomed to disappointment.
At last Versailles was reached. The elderlyman in the tonneau gave a short command, his chauffeur turned the car about, and they began to return to Paris. Nothing further whatever happened on the Versailles road.
Meanwhile, Richard Duvall, at the Porte de Versailles, was carefully scrutinizing the various incoming machines that passed the gate and entered the city. With a brilliant electric searchlight he examined their bodies and wheels, looking always for the telltale red stains which would identify the kidnappers' car. Beside him stood Vernet, one of the Prefect's assistants, with whom Duvall had become well acquainted during his former stay in Paris.
"Well, Monsieur Duvall," remarked the latter, "a most ingenious plan—this of yours. I wonder if it will be successful?"
"I feel sure of it."
"I hope you are right." He looked at his watch. "Half past eight. About time, I should think, from what you tell me. Here is a big fellow, now. A Pasquet, by her looks. Six-cylinder, too."
Duvall glanced at the oncoming car. A wagon which preceded it was just passing the gates. The big Pasquet slowed up, and almost stopped.
The detective threw the rays of his searchlight on the body of the car, then started back with an exclamation. From one end to the other, the dark green finish of the sides and wheels was spattered and streaked with bright red paint. Dust had settled in it, in places, especially on the wheels; but above, on the doors, it was clear and unmistakable.
"Vernet," he shouted, excitedly, "it is the one! Quick! Don't let them get away."
Vernet stepped up to the quivering motor. At the wheel sat a young man, quite composed. In the tonneau, a veiled woman reclined at ease. In her hands she held a brown paper package.
She leaned toward Vernet, and spoke a single word to him. Duvall did not hear what it was; but its effect upon the Prefect's man was instantaneous—electrical. He stepped back and raised his hat. "Pardon, Madame," he said, and the Pasquet rolled through the gate and into the streets of Paris unmolested.
Duvall had sprung forward, and, as he did so, swept the occupants of the car with his electric searchlight. Suddenly he drew back in amazement, just as Vernet allowed the car to pass on. He could scarcely believe that what he saw wasa reality. There was the big black car, its body and wheels plentifully bespattered with the identifying red stain—and there, at the wheel, sat Alphonse Valentin, while the veiled woman in the rear was—Grace!
He did not know it was Grace—he did know that it was the woman who had been with Valentin in his room, who had brought the message from the kidnappers to Mr. Stapleton, who, in some far off and intangible way, reminded him of Grace.
There she sat, in her hand the package containing Mr. Stapleton's money—and Vernet doffed his cap to her, and permitted her to go on! Was this woman, then, hoodwinking even the police?
He sprang to Vernet's side. "Stop them!" he cried, in a hoarse voice. "They are the ones I am after."
Vernet shook his head. "Impossible, Monsieur. They are given safe conduct by Monsieur the Prefect himself."
"But—they are thieves—kidnappers!"
Vernet shrugged his shoulders. "It may be so, Monsieur Duvall; but my orders are to let them pass."
The detective ground his teeth, helpless. Hisscheme for identifying the criminals had worked perfectly. He had found them, only to see both them and Mr. Stapleton's hundred thousand dollars as well slip quietly through his fingers. He cursed the whole police force of Paris roundly, in his anger.
The arrival of another car distracted his attention. It was Mr. Stapleton, hurrying home, in the hope of finding his boy. Duvall did not stop him. The banker was evidently thinking of nothing but his lost son.
Several other cars passed. Duvall had no interest in them. He was about to turn away, with the intention of hunting up Mr. Stapleton and learning whether or not the boy had been returned to him, when he heard a familiar voice calling him by name. He turned. It was Monsieur Lefevre, in a big dark green car.
"Mon Dieu! Duvall!" the Prefect cried, in pretended surprise. "You here! In Paris! Or do my eyes deceive me?"
The detective looked a bit sheepish. He realized that in not calling on his old friend before now, he had been guilty of an apparent rudeness which Monsieur Lefevre might justly resent. "Monsieur," he cried, "it is indeed I." He putout his hand, and grasped that of his old chief warmly. "A little matter of business brought me to Paris. I have only just arrived."
"Indeed." The Prefect's eyes twinkled. "I hope, my dear fellow, that your other engagements will permit you to come and see me before long."
"I shall come this very evening, Monsieur. In fact, I have a matter of the utmost importance to discuss with you. Shall you be at liberty?"
"In an hour,mon ami. Until then I have other things to occupy me. Come to the Prefecture in an hour. I shall be waiting for you. For the present, adieu." He called an order to his chauffeur, and drove rapidly off into the darkness.
Duvall turned on his heel and began to look for a taxicab. "Good night, Vernet," he called out, as he went up the street.
In half an hour, he had reached Mr. Stapleton's house. He found the unfortunate banker striding up and down his library in a towering rage. "The fellows have deceived me!" he cried. "They have not brought back my boy. Did you see anything of them? Tell me!" He grasped Duvall nervously by the arm.
"The car into which you threw the package of money contained, besides the chauffeur, but one occupant, a woman, did it not?"
"Yes—yes! Did you get her?"
"No."
"Why not? Did your scheme to identify the car fail to work?"
"On the contrary, it worked perfectly. I stopped the car at the barrier. The woman in it had the package of money in her hand."
"And you did not arrest her! In Heaven's name, why not?"
"The police would not permit me to do so. The woman was the same one who brought you the message last night, the supposed agent of the police. They allowed her to pass the gates."
"What?" the banker fairly shouted his question. "This is ridiculous! Is the woman a criminal, or is she a detective? She cannot be both, and if she is the latter why was she in that car, with my money in her hand?"
"I do not know. But I mean to find out very shortly."
"How? I'd like to know!"
"I am going to see the Prefect of Police at once."
Mr. Stapleton sank into a chair, and groaned. "I had hoped to have Jack with me by now. His poor mother is distracted. Isn't there anything, Mr. Duvall, that you can do?"
"I hope to answer that question better, Mr. Stapleton, after I have seen Monsieur Lefevre. If this woman, and her companion, Valentin, are really the kidnappers, they are in Paris, and we shall be able to lay our hands on them without difficulty. If they are not, your money, at least is safe. I must leave you now; but as soon as I learn anything, I will report to you at once. Good night."
He left the house, more mystified than he had ever been in his life. From the start, this case had apparently been one in which all the clues led to absurd contradictions, or else to nothing at all.
In fifteen minutes he was at the Prefecture.
Monsieur Lefevre sent out word that he would be occupied for a few moments, and the detective sat down as patiently as possible, to wait.
THE events of the Versailles road left Grace Duvall in a high state of good humor. The plan she had suggested had been a success—at least so far as her own part in it was concerned. How Monsieur Lefevre had fared, she did not yet know. She looked down at the brown paper package she held in her hand, and ordered Valentin to drive to the Prefecture.
The day had been an eventful one. Immediately after breakfast Grace had gone to Mr. Stapleton's house and had a long interview with Mrs. Stapleton. That lady, apparently quite prostrated from worry and alarm over the fate of her son, received her in her boudoir, where she lay, a charming picture, upon a divan.
Grace had no more than entered the room, when she detected the odor of cigarette smoke, faint but unmistakable. She glanced at the table which stood beside the divan upon which Mrs.Stapleton lay. On it, a tiny porcelain ash receiver contained a fluffy mass of gray-white ashes, and the half smoked remains of a cigarette. The tip, partly covered by the ashes, was of gold.
The girl engaged her hostess in a long conversation, quieting her fears, which seemed real enough, and predicting the early recovery of her boy. It was quite evident that Mrs. Stapleton was terribly nervous. No doubt this accounted for the cigarettes. Although Grace did not use them herself, she knew how their quieting effect on the nerves made them almost necessities, at times, to their devotees.
Presently she observed that Mrs. Stapleton held within her left hand, concealed beneath the folds of her kimono, a small pasteboard box, a box of cigarettes. Grace determined upon a bold move.
"May I have one of your cigarettes, Mrs. Stapleton?" she asked, in her sweetest manner. "I've forgotten to bring any with me—and—you know how it is."
Mrs. Stapleton's features relaxed into something approaching a smile. She had been lying there wondering whether she dared offer one to Grace, and thus be able to sooth her own overstrainednerves. She brought forth the box and extended it toward her visitor. Grace took one of the tiny cylinders and lit it.It was of the same make as the one she had secured in Alphonse Valentin's room!
She took her departure a little later, wondering greatly. The whole affair had begun to take on an air of baffling contradiction.
She spent the rest of the morning, and most of the afternoon, searching the houses near the point on the road to Versailles indicated by Valentin. With her were three men from the Prefect's office—silent, able men, in plain clothes, who pretended to be keepers from theJardin des Plantes, in search of a dangerous cobra, which was supposed to have escaped from its cage the night before.
The terrified householders threw open their doors with unassumed alacrity. The suggestion of a deadly reptile lurking in their gardens was a veritable open sesame. Yet no traces of the missing boy were found, and, more remarkable still, Grace was unable to identify any of the many gardens as the one in which she had seen the child playing with the spaniel. This disappointed her greatly. She knew well that, if Valentin wastelling the truth, the garden was here; yet, although they visited every house within a quarter of a mile, they were unable to locate it. She remembered now that in her agitation, her eager examination of the child, she had not fixed upon her mind any salient point in the garden itself. All that she remembered was a bit of grass, a gravel walk, and the child playing with the dog. A dozen of the little enclosures presented similar features. She returned to the prefecture, baffled.
"The fellow is undoubtedly lying," had been Monsieur Lefevre's comment. "He is trying to throw you off the track, in order to protect the nurse, and possibly Mrs. Stapleton as well. I should not be surprised to find that the boy's mother is the guilty person."
Grace did not agree with him; so she said nothing. In spite of the fact that Mrs. Stapleton used cigarettes similar to those which seemed in some queer way to be at the bottom of the mystery, she had an intuitive feeling that the grief which the banker's wife showed was entirely real.
At half past seven, Grace left the prefecture in a high-powered car, furnished by Monsieur Lefevre. Alphonse Valentin was at the wheel.In her hand she held a pocket electric searchlight, across the front of which had been affixed a circular bit of blue glass.
At ten minutes to eight she arrived at Versailles. She at once ordered Valentin to turn and drive back toward Paris at moderate speed. She did not take him into her confidence regarding what she proposed to do, but kept a keen watch for the car containing Mr. Stapleton.
Her plan had worked. Mr. Stapleton, seeing her signal, had tossed her the package of money—she only hoped that the other part of her plan had been carried out with equal success.
The other part of the plan had been this: Monsieur Lefevre, who in build and general appearance was not unlike Mr. Stapleton, was to follow the latter's car in a machine of the same make and general appearance. He was to be driven by a chauffeur made up to resemble François sufficiently to be mistaken for him in the dim light of early evening. He himself was to make such alterations in his appearance and dress as would enable him to pass, under a cursory examination, for Stapleton. In the bottom of the car two armed men lay concealed.
When the car containing Mr. Stapleton turnedback toward Paris, after having unwittingly delivered the money to Grace, the Prefect would continue on toward Versailles. He would know that the car containing the kidnappers was still ahead of him; since, had it not been, it, instead of Grace's car, would have signaled Mr. Stapleton.
Grace had started out from Versailles especially early, convinced that the kidnappers would not leave there until eight, at least. In this assumption she was correct. The car containing the kidnappers was, at that moment, creeping toward Paris some two miles in her rear, looking everywhere for Mr. Stapleton.
The Prefect pursued his way toward Versailles in anxious expectancy. Each moment he thought to see the blue signal flash from the various cars which passed him. When it came, his men were to spring up, and at once bring the other car to a standstill by firing their guns, heavily charged with buckshot, at its wheels. A punctured tire, and the thing was done. His men, assisted by the chauffeur, would then overpower the occupants of the other car before they could realize what had happened. In it they hoped to find the child.
The plan was well conceived; but unfortunatelyit did not work. Whatever the reason, none of the cars which passed the Prefect on his way to Versailles displayed the telltale blue light. All seemed but peaceable automobilists, intent on reaching Paris and its restaurants as quickly as possible. Had his disguise been penetrated? He could not believe it. He returned to the Prefecture in great disgust, wondering in what way matters had gone wrong.
Grace was waiting for him, an eager smile on her face. "Here is the money," she said, placing the package on his desk. "Did you get the men?"
"No." The Prefect flung himself into a chair. "They did not signal."
"But why, I wonder?" The failure of her plan was extremely annoying.
"I can think of but one reason. There must have been some way in which these fellows knew the Stapleton car when they approached it—some signal, perhaps, that I was unable to give."
"But no such signal was mentioned in the instructions I brought to Mr. Stapleton. He gave none, as we approached him."
"Did you observe anything peculiar about the appearance of his car, anything that might haveserved as a clue to enable these fellows to recognize it, even in the dark, with certainty?"
Grace thought a moment, then her face fell. "There was one thing that I noticed as Mr. Stapleton's car came up to us; but I am afraid I failed to realize its significance at the time."
"What was it?"
"The electric headlight on the side nearest to me was working very badly. In fact, it seemed to be almost out. The other was burning brilliantly."
The Prefect sprang to his feet. "Sacré!" he exclaimed. "Of course. The thing is as plain as the nose on your face!"
"But who—"
"François! The fellow is in this thing up to his neck.Heclaims to have been asleep when the boy was stolen.Hedrives the car which brings you back, after your abduction.He, disguised, steals the box of cigarettes.Hefixes the lights so that the kidnappers are advised, not only beyond any doubt that they are signaling the right car, but that all is safe—that Monsieur Stapleton has no detectives or members of the police hidden in his tonneau. The thing is perfectly clear. Believe me, my child, had therebeen anyone in that car with Mr. Stapleton, those lights would have both been burning with equal brightness, as mine were. They did not give me the signal, when they passed me, because the lights failed to tell them that all was well."
Grace looked up quickly. "Then, if that is true, François knew that Mr. Stapleton had thrown the money into the wrong car."
"Undoubtedly, and by this time, no doubt, his confederates know it as well. Naturally the child has not been delivered. We are just where we were before."
"You will arrest François at once, I suppose."
"No. It will be useless. By leaving him free, we may learn something. By locking him up, with no tangible evidence against him, we accomplish nothing at all."
"Then what do you advise?"
"You will return the money to Mr. Stapleton at once. You can tell him, if you wish, how it came into your possession. He will be furious, of course; but he must understand that the capture of these scoundrels is quite as important to the city of Paris as the recovery of his son. We have done our best, and failed. We must try again."
"Richard was at the Porte de Versailles," remarked Grace, quietly. "He tried to stop my car."
"Yes. I saw him. He is coming here at once."
The girl rose, in nervous haste. "I must go, then. It would be most unwise to have him find me here."
There was a quick knock at the door. The Prefect rose, and opened it; then turned to Grace with a grim smile. "Your husband is waiting in the anteroom," he whispered.
"But—what shall I do?"
"Wait in here." Monsieur Lefevre opened the door which led to his private office. "You can hear everything quite plainly. From what you tell me, I should not be surprised if he insisted upon your arrest at once."
"It isn't fair to him. Poor Richard! I'm afraid he'll never forgive me for all this."
"Nonsense! You are engaged in a very laudable attempt to recover Mrs. Stapleton's child. So is he. Your interests are identical. Only," he paused with a significant smile, "from my standpoint, I should much prefer that the credit for the boy's recovery should belong to the policeof Paris, of which you, for the time being, are one."
Richard Duvall came into the Prefect's office, somewhat ill at ease. The room, familiar to him because of the events of the past, reminded him forcibly of Grace—who had, indeed been upon his mind constantly for the past few days. It was here, in this very room, that she had first told him that she loved him—during the exciting pursuit of Victor Girard, and the million francs. He gazed about at its familiar aspect, and sighed.
"Sit down, my dear Duvall," said the Prefect, shaking hands with him warmly. "What, may I ask, brings you to Paris, at the cost of interrupting your honeymoon? I had supposed that nothing could be of sufficient importance for that. In fact, had I known you would consider it for a moment, I should have cabled to you, to give me your assistance in a most trying case."
"What case, Monsieur?"
"The mysterious kidnapping of the child of Monsieur Stapleton."
"It is that very case that brings me to Paris. I am in Mr. Stapleton's employ."
Monsieur Lefevre affected to be greatly surprised."Is it possible,mon ami? That is bad news indeed. This fellow Stapleton no longer has confidence in my office. He retains you to do that which he believes I shall fail to do. I am sorry, my dear Duvall, that we are on opposite sides of the fence."
"But, Monsieur, I did not know that you wanted me. Mr. Stapleton is an old friend. I could not refuse to come to his assistance."
Lefevre's eyes twinkled. "Have you made any progress, then, my friend?"
"Yes. Tonight I put in operation a plan whereby I might identify an automobile containing the kidnappers, into which Mr. Stapleton had been directed to throw a package containing one hundred thousand dollars."
"Indeed. You interest me. And did you succeed in identifying it?"
"I did. I stopped the car, at the Porte de Versailles. I knew it to be the one into which the money had been thrown. The car was driven by a man named Alphonse Valentin, whom I have every reason to suspect is concerned in this affair. Its only other occupant was a woman—whom I met last night in Valentin's rooms, and who brought Mr. Stapleton a message from the kidnappers.This woman is, I believe, at the bottom of the whole thing."
"Indeed. And did you arrest her?"
"No. She claims to be an agent of your office. Vernet, who was at the gates at my request, refused to place her and her companion under arrest. She got away with Mr. Stapleton's money. I believe, Monsieur Lefevre, that you are being made a fool of by a member of your own staff."
The Prefect leaned over, and picked up the package containing the money which lay upon his desk. "I do not agree with you, my friend. Here is Monsieur Stapleton's money."
Duvall started back in his chair, amazed. "Good Lord, Chief, am I losing my senses? What is this affair, anyway, a joke?"
"Far from it, Monsieur Duvall. The criminals are still at large. The boy is in their hands. We must recover him."
"But—this money—"
"I arranged to get it, in order to prevent Monsieur Stapleton from making a fool of himself. I wish to capture these men—not to let them blackmail him out of half a million francs."
"Had you not interfered, Monsieur Lefevre,they would have been in my hands, by now. I would have had them safely the moment they attempted to enter Paris. I knew their car."
The Prefect was filled with curiosity. "How?" he asked.
"My means of a device with which Mr. Stapleton's car was equipped, the body of the one into which he threw the money was spattered with red paint. I could have identified it anywhere."
"My dear Duvall! I feel that I should beg your pardon. Your plan was cleverness itself, and I will admit that, had I not interfered, you would in all probability have captured these men. I did not know what you had done, of course. Yet in their escape I have one consolation. It would have been extremely distasteful to me, to have had Mr. Stapleton boast that a private detective in his employ had succeeded, where the police of Paris had failed."
"Then it would appear, Monsieur," said Duvall somewhat stiffly, "that we are, in this matter at least, in opposition."
"Let us rather say, my friend, in competition." He placed his hand on Duvall's shoulder. "You must not blame me, if I feel a pride in my office. When you were working for the city of Paris,you, too, felt that pride. I am truly sorry that I have not the benefit of your services now. However, I think you will admit,mon ami, that the young woman who is handing this case is no mean adversary." The Prefect regarded the detective with a quizzical smile, behind which his eyes twinkled merrily.
"Who is this woman?" asked Duvall, quickly.
"Her name is—Goncourt—Estelle Goncourt."
"A Frenchwoman?"
"Partly. I believe her mother was English." The twinkle in his eye spread—he smiled upon the detective with expansive good humor. "Why do you ask?"
"You will think it strange, perhaps, Monsieur Lefevre, but when I first saw Miss Goncourt, she reminded me strongly of my wife."
"Of Grace?"
"Yes. Have you not observed it?"
"Now that you speak of it, perhaps there is something similar in the manner—the carriage. But your wife, my dear Duvall, is a blonde, while Mademoiselle Goncourt is decidedly a brunette."
"Yes. Of course. But, nevertheless, the resemblance is striking." He rose to go. "I hope, Monsieur, that this kidnapped boy may be restoredto his father very soon. I am anxious to return to America."
"What! Leave Paris so quickly? My dear Duvall, I thought you Americans loved our city so well, that you never wanted to leave it."
"Paris is all right, Monsieur; but," he laughed heartily, "I must get back to my wife and my farm. I was forced to leave in the very middle of my spring plowing."
The Prefect roared. "You—a farmer! Mon Dieu! How droll! Potatoes, I suppose, and chickens, and dogs, and pigs—"
"Exactly—and, believe me, Monsieur, they are more to my liking, than all the gaieties of Paris. Some day you must make us a visit, and see for yourself." He turned toward the door.
"I shall, Duvall, I shall. But first we have to find this boy. What do you propose to do next?"
Duvall smiled. "What do you?" he retorted.
"A bottle of champagne, my friend, and a dinner at the Café Royale, that we find the child before you do!"
"Done! Now I'll be off. Good night."
The Prefect was still laughing when Grace peeped in from the private office, to find thatRichard had gone. "I think it's a shame to treat him so," she said. "The poor fellow! And hewouldhave gotten the kidnappers, if we hadn't interfered."
Monsieur Lefevre picked up the package containing Mr. Stapleton's money and placed it carefully in his safe. "Tomorrow you must return it to him," he said. "And then, I would suggest that you keep a close watch upon Mrs. Stapleton. My men have not been keeping her under surveillance. We have had no suspicions of her whatever. She may, if she is concerned in this matter, be imprudent enough to attempt to visit the child."
"And if not?"
"Then watch François. If nothing comes of your efforts in either direction, I fear that we must wait for the kidnappers to make the next move. Of course there is Valentin—"
"Valentin is innocent."
"How do you know that?"
"I have watched him. He did everything in his power, tonight, to assist me. Had he been in league with the kidnappers, he could, after he knew that I had secured the money, easily have driven the car to some quiet spot and taken itfrom me. I was waiting for some such move; but he, as you know, did not attempt it. I am sure that he is doing his best to assist us."
"In that event, perhaps you can induce him to tell you the secret of the box of cigarettes. I feel sure that this knowledge would go far toward solving the entire affair."
"I'll have a talk with him tomorrow."
"Good! And now, if you are ready, we will return home at once."
"Dear old Richard!" said Grace, as the Prefect helped her into his automobile. "I wish I were with him tonight."
Lefevre smiled, and patted her hand. "So do I, my dear. But, remember, you have only to find Mr. Stapleton's child, and you can return to your chickens and your cows with the knowledge that you have done both his parents and myself an inestimable service."
IT was close to eight o'clock next evening when Grace Duvall arrived at Mr. Stapleton's house with the package containing the money.
She was accompanied, for safety, by two men from the Prefecture, who escorted her to the door.
She had paid a previous visit to the house, during the forenoon; but Mr. Stapleton was not at home, and she was informed that he would not return until evening.
Mrs. Stapleton she saw again; but her talk with the latter resulted in nothing. The poor lady was in utter despair, after the fiasco of the night before, and spent the day in her rooms, weeping.
It was quite clear to Grace that her grief was very real. She made up her mind that, whatever the mystery of the gold-tipped cigarettes, Mrs. Stapleton had nothing to do with it. Nor hadthe chauffeur, Valentin, been more communicative. He refused pointblank to explain the presence of the cigarettes in his room, or the reason why Mary Lanahan had written requesting him to destroy them. He said that it was a matter which concerned only the nurse and himself, and assured Grace that an answer to her questions would not assist in the least in recovering the missing child.
Mr. Stapleton was awaiting her in the library when she entered. The Prefect had telephoned him, advising him that the money was safe, and would be returned to him at once. Beyond that, he knew nothing, except what Duvall had told him the night before. Consequently he was in a decidedly bad humor.
Grace laid the money on the table. "Here is your hundred thousand dollars, Mr. Stapleton," she said.
The irate banker glared at her. "I cannot thank you for bringing it back, Miss," he growled. "Did I not particularly request that the police take no steps in the matter?"
"You did, Mr. Stapleton; but we acted for what we thought to be your best interests."
"Hang your thoughts about my best interests!I can take care of them. If you had let things alone, I'd have my boy back by now."
"And these men, these criminals, who stole him, would be at liberty to do the same thing over again tomorrow."
Mr. Stapleton was silent for a moment. "How did the thing happen?" he presently asked.
Grace told him. "The real cause of our failure, we believe, lies at the door of your chauffeur, François." She explained the reasons for their suspicions.
Mr. Stapleton seemed puzzled. "The fellow seems honest enough."
"Where is he now?" Grace inquired.
"He asked permission to visit his people. As I had no use for him this evening, I told him he might go."
"Ah! In that event, we may learn something. He is being closely watched."
As Grace spoke, a servant entered the room. "There is a gentleman to see you, sir," he said to Mr. Stapleton.
"Who is it?"
"He would not give his name. He said his business was urgent."
"Where is he now?"
"In the reception room, sir."
Mr. Stapleton rose. "Excuse me a moment," he said, and went into the adjoining room.
The library was separated from the reception room by a short passageway, or alcove, in which hung a pair of heavy curtains. Grace sat quietly, waiting for Mr. Stapleton to return. Suddenly she realized that she could distinctly hear what was going on in the room adjoining. For a moment she thought of going into the hall; then a word or two caught her attention, and in a moment she was close to the curtains, listening intently to a most remarkable conversation.
The man who had asked to see Mr. Stapleton stood in the reception room, near a broad window overlooking the street without. He was tall and somewhat heavily built; but what at once attracted Grace's attention was his heavy black beard. She recognized him at once as the man who had broken into Valentin's room to steal the cigarettes, and had later driven the car which brought her back to Paris after her abduction.
He was speaking to Mr. Stapleton in a quiet and assured tone, as though discussing a topic of no greater importance than the weather.
"Mr. Stapleton," he said, "I have your son inmy possession. He is quite safe. I gave you an opportunity to have him returned to you last night; but you did not avail yourself of it."
"I did my best," exclaimed the astounded banker, mastering his desire to take the fellow by the throat.
"That may be; yet my plans were interfered with. You did not carry out my instructions."
"I did—to the letter."
The man frowned. "It is useless to discuss the matter now," he growled. "I come to give you one more chance. It will be the last—"
"You damned scoundrel!"
The man with the black beard held up his hand. "It will avail nothing, Monsieur," he said, calmly, "to excite yourself. If you want back your boy, listen to what I have to say."
"Very well. Go ahead."
"First, I want no interference by the police, or by the man Duvall, who is acting for you."
Mr. Stapleton drew back in astonishment. "How do you know that Mr. Duvall is acting for me?" he said.
"It is my business to know, Monsieur. Let it suffice that Idoknow. If you hope ever to see your child again, you had better listen to whatI have to say, and carry out my instructions to the letter." His voice was harsh, menacing.
Mr. Stapleton directed him by a gesture, to proceed. He was too angry to speak.
"Tomorrow night at this hour—eight o'clock—I shall come here, to this house, and ask for you. You will hand me a package containing one hundred thousand dollars. I will examine the money here, and satisfy myself that the amount is correct.
"I shall then leave the house, and walk to the Arc de Triomphe; which, as you know, is but a short distance away. At the Arc de Triomphe, I shall wait for an automobile, which will stop for me. In that automobile I shall drive away. If I get away safely without interference, there will be telephoned to your house, within half an hour, the address of the place where your boy is to be found. If I donotget away safely, that address willnotbe telephoned to you, and you will not see your child alive again. This is your last chance, Monsieur. It is most important, I assure you, that nothing should happen to prevent my safe departure tomorrow night."
For a moment Grace was undecided as to howshe should act. She feared greatly, under the circumstances, to make any move which would endanger the safety of Mr. Stapleton's child. Yet her duty, as an agent of the police, was clear. She must use every effort to effect this man's capture, before he left the house.
She knew that she could not reach the street without passing the door of the reception room, in which case both Mr. Stapleton and his caller would see her. There was nothing to do but telephone. She flew to a small alcove room which opened off the rear of the library, in which she knew the telephone instrument was located. Once in this small room, she closed the door, for fear the others might overhear her, then called up the Prefecture. Monsieur Lefevre was out; but she acquainted one of his assistants with the circumstances, and requested him to send a man to the house at once.
It would take at least ten minutes, perhaps more, for the man from the Prefecture to reach the house even though he came by automobile, as he no doubt would. What should she do, to keep the man in the reception room from leaving before the police should arrive?
The question was solved for her, quite unexpectedly.In opening the door of the small room, to re-enter the library, she accidentally struck against a chair. The sound aroused both Mr. Stapleton and his visitor. The former, who had, in his excitement, completely forgotten Grace's presence, appeared at once in the doorway between the two rooms. "Come here, Miss Goncourt," he said sternly.
Grace entered the reception room. The man with the black beard eyed her keenly. "Ah—a representative of the police, I believe. Our conversation has been overheard, then, Monsieur Stapleton?"
The banker was violently angry. He turned to Grace. "You have heard?" he demanded.
"Yes."
"Then I insist that you do not interfere in the matter in any way. I intend to get my boy back this time, in spite of you all."
Grace made no reply. She saw the man with the black beard eying her keenly. "I think, Monsieur, that I had better go," he remarked.
Grace regarded him with a level look. "You cannot leave this house," she said. "It is being watched. If you attempt to do so, I will give the alarm."
"And for what reason should I stay?" the man inquired calmly.
"I have telephoned to the Prefecture. A man will be here in a few minutes, to place you under arrest. I advise you to remain here quietly until he arrives."
The kidnapper strolled over to the window which overlooked the Avenue Kleber, drew aside the curtain, and looked out. Grace wondered if he was making a signal of any sort to confederates outside. He gazed into the street intently for a moment, then turned back toward the center of the room. "I shall follow your advice, Mademoiselle, and wait," he remarked, calmly.
Mr. Stapleton was speechless with rage. He dared not do anything; for he knew that he would only lay himself open to a charge of resisting the police, and helping a criminal to escape. He sat in his chair, inwardly cursing Grace and the entire police force of Paris as well.
None of the three spoke for a considerable time. After what seemed to Grace ages, she heard the faint ringing of the doorbell, and presently the frightened servant arrived, with the information that a detective from the Prefecture was in the hall, and desired to see Mr. Stapletonimmediately. He had scarcely succeeded in delivering this message, when a heavily built man in citizen's clothes shouldered past him into the room.
He gazed quickly about. Grace did not remember having ever seen him before. "I am from the Prefect of Police," he announced, striding toward the kidnapper. "I am here to arrest this man." In a moment the click of the handcuffs, as he snapped them upon the wrists of the man with the black beard, came to Grace's ears.
The kidnapper smiled pleasantly. "I am quite ready to accompany you, my friend," he said.
Mr. Stapleton was regarding the scene in helpless rage. He resented bitterly the way in which the police continually interfered with his plans to get back his child. In one way, he was glad to feel that the guilty man was under arrest; but, if it resulted in the death of the missing boy, it would be a tragedy, indeed. He turned to the man with the black beard who stood, smiling, near the door. "I hope you will understand," he said, "that I have nothing to do with this matter—nothing whatever. The presence of this woman here was a pure accident. I had forgotten that she was in the next room. I'd be glad enough tosee you put behind the bars for the rest of your life; but not if it is going to prevent me from getting back my child."
The man with the black beard continued to smile pleasantly. "I believe you, my friend," he said. "However, there is no harm done. When I return tomorrow night—for I shall return, depend upon it, in spite of the efforts of this gentleman," he waved his hand lightly toward the man from the Prefecture, "I trust that you will have persuaded Monsieur Lefevre, and your man Duvall as well, to let me do so in peace. It is the only way in which anything can be accomplished—I assure you of that." He turned to his captor. "I am ready to accompany you, Monsieur."
The officer started toward the door leading into the hall. He had taken but a single step when the servant, with a frightened look upon his face, appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Stapleton," he stammered, "there is a man here from the office of the Prefect of Police."
Stapleton strode toward the door. "Another?" he exclaimed. "What does this mean?"
The man in charge of the kidnapper stepped forward, speaking in a quick, low tone. "Leavethe matter to me, Monsieur," he whispered. "This fellow who has just arrived is an impostor, a confederate. He pretends to be an agent of the police, in order to rescue his comrade, who has undoubtedly signaled to him from the window. Be good enough to step into that room," he pointed to the library, "and let me deal with him."
Mr. Stapleton hesitated. "What do you propose to do?" he asked.
"Quick!" said the other, offering no explanations. "He will be here at once." He turned to the astonished servant. "Bring the man in."
The puzzled banker moved toward the adjoining room. "You will accompany him, please," the Prefect's man said to Grace. "There may be danger."
"I am not afraid, Monsieur," replied Grace, who did not entirely like the way things were going.
The man, however, paid no attention to her remonstrances. "Go—at once, I command you, in the name of the law!"
She hesitated no longer, but followed Mr. Stapleton into the library. As she did so, the new arrival entered the reception room.
The man with the black beard stood to one side of the doorway. His captor advanced toward the newcomer. "I have him here," he exclaimed, pointing to the kidnapper, "safely ironed."
"Who are you?" curtly inquired the man who had just entered the room.
"A private detective. Here is your man. Let us get him out of here at once."
The official made no reply, but stepped quickly up to the man with the black beard. "Come along with me," he said, roughly, and placed his hand upon the other's arm.
As he did so, the kidnapper shook his wrists briskly. The handcuffs fell clattering to the floor. Without a word he threw his powerful arms about the neck of the astonished official, and throttled him into instant silence. His companion, no less quick, whipped out a handkerchief, and knotted it about the official's mouth. He was unable to utter a sound.
The whole thing was so quickly done that Grace, who was watching the room through the curtains in the doorway, had barely time to utter a cry, before the newcomer was lying helpless and silent upon the floor, choked into insensibility;while the two men, quite evidently confederates, made ready to go.