The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 28, 1903, Page 4

case was discovered. But all these pros and cons argued themselves out in my brain while I could have counted twenty; and meantime the commissary of police was deliberately removing the silk cush- tone which his men had togsed back into place. He laid them on the floor and then thrust his thin, wiry hand down between the seat and the back of the soft. He moved it along slowly, inch by tnch. It was just as if Jullette's soul had sent a telegraphic message to mine tell- ing me that she had pushed her treasure deep Into this crevica: yet as the fingers traveled slowly on and on I dared to hope that by some miracle he would pass it over. In that case it would be but for him to apologize most humbly for the humiliating mistake he had com- mitted, the inconvenience to which we had been put and take his men away. I dared to hope, with that pendulum yuavering in horrid, nauseating fashion, until the police officer gave & cry of triumph. Both hands Instead of one went to work, two crooked forefingers being excitedly in- serted; and then, with a dramatic flourish nis French temperament could not resist, he waved aloft a dark red leather case. “Volla!” he ejaculated, with a flash of white teeth “Mademoisello—monsieur, you have given us a fine game of hide- and-seek—a game to be enjoved; yet I regret—' “If you think,” Juliette broke in quickly, “that the thing you have there belongs me vou are mistaken. I never saw it before in my life.” “Nor 1,” I echoed. Jullette flung me a glance of gratitude mingled with surprise. " y. Once I had told her that In my gbinion a lle was so cowardly I could elve of no circumstances which would ce me to utter one. Now. she tRought g for her. But the queer~ est part of the tangle was that I couldn’t be sure whether she had lled or mot. I bewlidered—dumfounded. Were we cross purposes? I asked my- zed deep, f, am t the commissary of police was un- ted. He brought the red leather case on the center table with an em- “Quite probable,” he sneered h the grain of good nature uliette’s beauty and popularity ft undissolved by his anger. “‘Quite »bable that the last occupant of these tments hid a valued possession in so afe a place—and then forgot it. You have the pleasure, mademoiselle, of g me to see what the case con- wn phatic rap. One hand he laid upon it, pressing it down on the table, while with the other e manipulated & metal hasp, which fast- the two leather flaps together. But lette could bear no more. She sprang n like a tigress, vet her white face not fierce, but passionately implor- heaven's sake, monsieur!” she in such a veice th my heart “For heaven's sake spare not understand. I swear to affair of this case—this pres- called it at first—is en- gentleman—my friend A% know me. You know roud—that T have held myself ned many women in my se they have not held gh. They say I am the he French stage who has . they are mistaken. I do What have ypu and your men to do to me from my lover?” ntarily I took a step forward, my hand out to stop her. But I let it fall n , clenched, to my side. All the far- reaching consequences of this false ex- cuse of hers rushed over me. Her words be repeated and published. Margot read or hear them. My hope of g what T had lost would be gone I would be in the eyes of the girl 1 adored the man whom Jullette de Nevers had claimed before witnesses as ver. My impulse was for contradic- t 3t T checked it. Whatever the sac- rifice to myself, T would not dash from nder her foot the slippery plank on cu €he essayed to walk Your lover, mademoiselle,” echoed the commissary of police. You ask me to believe now that this English gentleman i vour lover, that there is a lover's gift in this leather case?” And heetapped it, still closed—with his knuckles. “I do ask you to belleve that,” Jullette sobbed, her glorious eyes swimming “The contents of that case are It is something that—that le men like you your gendarmes . will hurt me to the heart—to the h To me what lies hidden there is sacred. To others it would not be so. If behind the footlights I have ever been fortunate enough to bring smiles to your lips or tears to your eyes, by those smiles, by those tears, be- lieve in me, spare me now.” “Mademoiselle,” sald the commissary of police, gravely and with dignity, “it is a grief to me that I must refuse such a prayer—and from you, of all women. But my duty forbids me to grant it. I must know what is hidden there.” Even yet Jullette would flot abandon hope. She caught sight of his hand as again the fingers touched the metal clasp. It I were rich I would give you and your men &1l I have in the world,” she stam- mered, in & passion of pleading. “But I have been extravagant—I have saved next to nothing. Still, what I have is yours i”—" fademoiselle, there can be no such 4¢’” pronounced the Frenchman sternly. Wil ell my soul I strove to draw Jullette’'s eyes to mine, for with them I might have told her something. But I could not compel her gaze. Trembling, panting, all the actress forgotten, only the women in her left, she darted at the case and made a wild attempt to snatch it from under the lean brown hand. What she would have done with it if she had succeeded I don't kpow, nor perhaps, did she, unless her one hope was that, being still men, the police would not wrest it from her by force, even if I per- mitted them to try. but she did not suc- ceed. The commissary of police caught the red leather case off the table before her white fingers could seize it, and taking a quick step back before Jullette could fiing hersel? upon him, he began fumbling with the clasp which held the two leaves of the case together. Thwarted, desperate, all strength seemed drained from her body 2s hope died in her soul. With a moan she tottered back, and must have fallen had I not sprung forward to give her support against my ghoulder. Three words I whispered close to her ear, but she did not hear them. Fascinated, her eyes on the leather casg, which did not open as easily as might have been supposed. Twice, thrice, the commissary of police tried the fastening, then in a hot fit of impatience he tore the two sides of the case apart. Something fell out—something that flashed as it fell like the arch of a ca cade as it leaps from a cliff and carries with it a rainbow. Incredulous, amazed, Juliette's eyes followed the cataract of shimmering light; and I, too, only less dumfound: than she, gazed at it In speechless astonishment. For some odd dcvelopment in the plot I' had been in- might 1a forever. hal in tears, sacred to me. and y deed prepared since the fiading of the red leather case in the sofa, but I had not been prepared for this, nor evidently had the police. Their superior officer gave vent to a grunt of surprise, and, stoop- ing, picked up the thing which had fallen from the case almost with reverence. It was the most magnificent diamond neck- lace that I had ever seen. +‘SBacre bleu!” he ejaculated beneath his breath. But neither Juliette nor I ut- tered & sound. She still leaned upon my shoulder, but she was no longer limp— half-dead. I felt her pulses leap; I felt her begin again to live. And her silence was pregnant. It would give birth to new schemes, new hopes, were she granted but a moment's breathing space. “Where, then, is the cocument?” man muttered. This was all that the dauntless woman needed. ‘“What document?”’ she inquired, controlling her volce to a semblance of itself. But that question was not to be an- swered by a diplomat, which was doubt- less her reason for asking it and to gain time. “The contents of the case are not what 1 was led to expect, mademoisells,” said the officer of police. “Led, I am certain, by a cowardly en- emy of mine who strikes in the dark,” she retorted, the slow colar creeping back to her death-white cheeks. ‘It is not vour fault. I do not blame you. But you see, 1 told you the truth. These dia- onds"—she pointed an unsteady finger— ell their own story to you, perhaps. Well, if you have any consideration for a much-aggrieved woman, you will tell it to no one eise. And you will return to me my property without further parley. I have been made to suffer enough.” “Ten million pardons, mademoiselle, end of you, also, monsieur,” said the commissary of police, placing in the beautiful outstretched hands the queer, unsuitable leather case with its scintil- lating burden. “You belleve now that my friend has brought me nothing treasonable from England, or will you look farther?” de- manded Jullette, almost gayly. “Now that you know the worst you may search as you please.” “Thank you; I belleye,” “I believe because—"" “Because—7" “There would not have been time to conceal more than one thing,” was the terse reply. % Juliette broke into nervous laughter, and, half-ashamed of his frankness, which was more earnest than jest, the commissary of police and his gendarmes bowed themselves to the door. This—as it was not the one through which they had made their first appearance, but the door leading into the corridor—had to be unlocked for them. They went out; their footsteps were heard dying away; and until they could be heard no longer Jullette stood motion- less, still gurgling with strange laughter, then, collapsed on the sofa, the laughter merged into hysterical sobbing. “‘Oh, my friend, my preserver, my dear, good, precious Noel, my saint!"” she gasp- ed convulsively. “How I love you—how I adore you. But why, why did you let it go on through such anguish for me? 1 nearly died in it. I wanted to dle, but first to kill. Why didn’t you tell me somehow—somehow—that you had by a marvelous chance stumbled upon the necklace and brought it back to me in- stead of the treaty?” “I didn’t bring the necklace,” 1 “You—didn't bring the necklace? “No. At least that red leather thing isn't the case I brought. I knew that, and thanked heaven mightily the ihstant the fellow pulled it out from the sofa.” “But the tregty? I am thankful—more thankful than I can say to have the neck- lace. If I had had it before all the misery and deceit and trickery would have been saved. Yet now the treaty is inestimably more important. For the love of heaven don’t keep me In agony any longer, my friend. Whatever the explanation of this tangle give me the treaty.” 1 stared at her, dumb with bewllder- ment. the he answered id. CHAPTER V. THE TANGLED WEB. “I hended you the case I brought,” I repeated, dully. “A black moroces letter- case, very large. The thing that Lord Reckworth gave me for you was In a big blue envelope. I dJiin't know what was in it, but it was ‘lat, like paper or parchment. I put 't in the letter-case when I got home for safety. Then I slipped the case into my packet, where it stayed until I passed it over to you at the moment tke lights weu: out.” “"he red leatke: case was the thing you gave me, T tell you,” insisted Juliette, snow-pale again now. “I didn t see it be cause of the sudden darkness. But I felt it in my hand just as the first sound came at the door, and in a Hash I had the instinct to hide it. [ was cluse oy the sofa. My dress touched it. I thrust the case down as far as I could between the seat and the back behind the cush- ions, hoping, praying till that wretch dragged it out. Then, wien he opened it the reaction from deailv terror to joy was =0 great that for a moment it seemed as If my heart must burst. ‘To see the necklace—the necklace whicn be- gan all the dreadful trouble—to see it safe; to think that it and the treaty were both in my hands—oh, it was too much! The joy of it must have driven me mad, or I should not be so dazed, so puzzied now. 1 don’t understand what you have been explaining to me. Certainly—cer- tainly it must have been the treaty in the blue envelope which Lord Reckworth gave you. Search your pockets. Surely it is there. Oh, for mercy's sake, give me the treaty.” Mechanically I felt in pocket after pocket, knowing all the time that I should not find it. I tossed letters and pen and pencil and card-case on the table, while Jullette watched me with beautiful, haggard eyes. There was nothing else. I could not comprehend the thing that had happened. It was like an evil dream. “Let me think,” I exclaimed, when she would have broken into desperate ques- tionings. “Give me a quiet moment to think—to put two-and-two together.” “A quiet moment!” she echoed, des- pairingly. “Don’t you know that each moment to me is an hour? And to-night is the first night of. the new play. In half an hour I must be at the. theater, or all Paris will know that there is some- thing mysteriously wrong with Juliecte de Nevers.” “Let your understudy play,” I suggest- ed.” "You can't go to the theater and act in this state” ¥ {‘For me there is no such word as ‘can’t!” she crled. “I could act and go off the stage to dle the next instant—yet I would have to let no one guess that 1 had been dying. 1 have no understudy. ‘Who would stay in the theater to see Juliette de Nevers’ understudy act in her pi#€e? No, for the sake of the man I love and have either saved or ruined, I must go through my work to-night, even if T am to be mad or dead to-morrow. Don't ‘think quietly,” Noel. Think aloud, to me. Tell me all that happened to you from the moment you received the blue THE SUNDAY OCALL. envelope from Lord Rockworth till the moment I came to you in this room. We will talk it over together.” I began at the beginning and told her all—all except the part which concerned Margot. Of that there was no need to speak. Mentally I reviewed the whole day, and gave her each detall as it came into my mind. I told her how I had been late in getting on board the tral: how I had struggled with the men they attempted to keep me out of the re- served compartment, whose privacy they had not hesitated to violate. How the man inside had helped me in; how after- ward on the gangway he had stumbled against me, almost upsetting my balance; how, still later, he had fallen and I had picked him up. Yet telling these things 1 assured her also that many times my hand had covertly gone to the pocket with the letter-case, and always it had been there. Juliette grew quieter as she listened, but there was a strange, mutinous ex- pression in her face. On the table lay the torn, shabby red case which had con- tained t diamond necklace. She took the jewels, folded them up again, and handed me the case with them in it. “Put that into your pocket she said, “and then touch it with your hand. Does it feel the same as your own letter-case with which you started?"” “Yes, I think so,” I reluctantly sald, when I had experimented. “I shouldn't know the difference. You see, I never once had a chance to look unless I had wished deliberately to attract attention. I could only trust to my fingers. Through the coat this feels just the same. But even allowing that, by the most dexter- ous skill, my own letter-case was stolen from me, which should the thief put in a dlamond necklace worth twenty thou- sand pounds?”’ “This necklace of all others on earth,” murmured Jullette. “It goes beyond rea- son! Yet here—by a miracle—it {s. And the treaty is gone!" ““The treaty is gone,” I echoed forlornly. It was Jullette herself who had said it; yet she could not bear to hear the con- firmation of her words from me. 8he sprang to her feet and threw up her arms in a superb but all unstudied gesture of despair. “Mon Dieu!"” she exclaimed. “I am punished indeed. I have ruined the man I have risked all to save. I will act to-night, my friend, but to-morrow morn- ing I shall be dead. there is nothing left to me except death.” “Don’t say that, Juliette,” I implored, my heart heavy for her great sorrow and my own failure. ‘“All hope is not over yet. As I said, T will think this out. And 1 will give my life if need be to get back for you what is lost; I promise you that— though I don’t understand when you say its loss means ruin to the man you love. Did you receive the document you be- lfeve to be so important through him? Did he give it to you?” “I took it from him,” moaned the beau- tiful woman, burying her face between her hands. “You took it from him?” I echoed in a puzzled way. Then, remembering my- ® UNCLE PETER If the treaty is gonse. ] ] ® ] BINES, THE AMERICAN COLOSSUS, IN on more than one occasion England has had cause to thank me for putting se- crets of the most vital importance into her hands. You are shocked that I can tell you this with so little compunction?” “If T were I suppose the feeling would be more than half conventional,” I said. “Once I gloried in it,” Jullette went on. “Until—1 knew what love was, and for a Frenchman. 1 played a little love more than once. You and I, for instance, had a pleasant enough flirtation, had we not? But I never loved a man until T met Maxine de Ribaumont. From the mo- ment he told me that he loved me also, I made up my mind that I would no longer be the tool of diplomatists. I would be only what Maxime believed me— a true, single-hearted woman, just a wo- man and nothing else. It was hateful to think that there was something which I must always conceal from him, when I longed so to feel that the soul he loved was a clear white page for him to write his name upon. I vowed to myself that I would break with the past, and I even wrote to Lord Reckworth in answer to a letter he sent suggesting new work, saying that 1 was engaged to be married, and he must expect no further assistance from me. Heavens! to think that that was only a week ago—and how happy I wag then!” “A week ago. You have only been en- gaged to the Comte de Ribaumont a week?" I broke into her pause. “Not many days more, though I've known for some time that Maxime cared for me. He would not have spoken then if he had not lost his head a little, for his circumstances are not what he meant them to be before asking me to marry him. But what is a man worth who doesn’t lose his head with the woman he loves? I adored him for it. We planned not to make the engagement public until a short time before we could marry, but I did not mind letting Lord Reckworth know. Only one person in Paris suspect- ed—a Count Ipanoff of the Russian em- bassy has guessed that Maxime was more to me than a friend. He called on the day when Maxime lost his head and was let in by mistake, entering at an inopportune moment. Something he saw or overheard I was certain by the look on his face, and even then a presentiment of trouble to come fell upon me, for I have been per- secuted by Count Ipanoff's attentions. “I would rather have had any ons else in the world suspect something of our secret; still, I tried to reassure myself that no real harm could have come of It if Count Ipanoff had seen Maxime kiss me, or heard the word ‘love’ spoken by one of us. Maxime was going away that very night on a mission for a dear and intimate friend of his dead mother, the Duchess de Calals, and I persuaded my- self that It was the parting so soon after our engagement which depressed me. It might well have been that, had I guessed what was to come of it! “You know of the Duchesse de Calais? She is not young, but the most charming creature in the world. She is also an in- veterate gambler. Tt is in her blood, and she cannot. help it; but she is horribly afraid of her stern husband, whamshe also ‘The Spenders” BY HARRY LEON WILSON, Is a Wonderfully Real Character of the Western Gold Mines and the Most Humorous Man Ever Caught Between Book Covers. ...SEE self quickly, T less you choose. “I will tell you, Noel,” she said. “I won't spare myself. You shall know why, if the treaty has indeed been stolen from you, there is nothing for me but death, that at least 1 may escape the reproach in his eyes. Did Lord Reckworth tell you that I am engaged to be married?” “Yes,” 1 replied. *‘He told be that, but nothing else.” “You have heard of the De Ribaumont family 7" “Yes. I once met a young Comte de Ri- baumont. He was a splendidly handsome fellow. I think his name was Maxime." “It is Maxime de Ribaumont whom I am—whcm I was to marry. He is an Un- der Secretary in the French Foreign Of- fice. Now, do you begin to understand?” 1 hope my face did not betray the loath- some thought which suddenly sprang into my mind. “I—I—no, I'm sure I do not begin to un- derstand!” 1 stammered. “You do. I see that you do. Oh, don't spare me. Nothing can be too bad for me now that I have failed. He trusted me— poor Maxime! He would have trusted me with his soul. It is his special duty to look after important state documents which are kept in safes in his offices. I —knew of a certain one which was there. Not that he told me. But—I knew." ““Great heavens!” I broke out in spite of myself, “you don't mein me to believe that you betrayed a man who loves and trusts you, by stealing from him what he would give his life to defend?” ‘Julitte de Nevers flinched as if I had struck her. “Don’t speak of it like that; it was not that!" she protested. I love him. 1 would die for him. Noel, I will tell you all the truth. Then you will work for me—you will save me. 1 know you well enough to be sure of that. You shall understand all that 1 have done— all that is at stake.” “Well?” 1 said, trying not to let my voice be.cold, “To make you see how it was, T must 8o back a long way. For viars 1 have helped the English Government against France and Russia. In my pesition as an actress, a young woman leading a public life, with no one to question her actions, her comings and goings, her eccentrici- ties, it has been easier for me than it would for most women to keep the secret. And believe me, Noel, it was not all for moneyv—at least, not money for myself. 1 could earn all I needed by my acting— for I've been successful, you know well. But I have helped my own poor country— Poland. Every penny I could spare until —very lately—has gone to her—the land of my heart—the land where I was born, and my father and his father before him. I owed a debt of hatred to Russia, which 1 vromised my father as he lay dying that I would pay. And France is the friend of Russia. My mother was En- glish; and such loyalty as 1 could spare from Poland I had a right to give to England. You see, it was natural that [ should serve her. My father did in his day what I have done since—the same kind of work, which was handed on to me when I was but sixteen. That is ten years ago now, for 1 am twenty-six; and ded: ““Don’t tell me un- THE... SUNDAY CALL,JUL loves. At Spa she had lost huge sums on an ‘infallible system' which she was try- ing, and she had borrowed money to pay her losses. She dared not tell the Duc and appealed to Maxime, who is like her son, ‘to sell the stones from her famous diamond necklace and have them replaced in paste, This he agreed to do, and the journey he took was to Amsterdam. But his real errand there was a secret even from me, until he came back and the dreadful thing had happened.” “What dreadful thing?” I questioned. ‘““He was robbed—the necklace stolen from him by a thief who must have been one of the most expert in the world. He came to me in despair, asking for my ad- vice. What was he to do? He dared not .appeal to the police, or the Duchesse's secret would come out with the revela- tion. He could not endure the thought even of telling her of the loss, for she knew that he was himself in financial difficulties, and she might suspect that he had sold the diamonds for his own use and accounted for their disappearance by saying that they had been stole! “Disagreeable? Oh, you Englishmen! There Is nothing that 1 would not have done to help him—Do you understand— nothing. 1 told him to walit and say not a word to the Duchesse, who, indeed, was not even aware that he had come back from Amsterdam. Alrbady I had the glimmering of 4n idea—a desperate one. “l rememtered the commission from Lord Reckworth. I had only just writ- ten in the usual cipher, and through the usual channel, to refuse. He had offered me ten thousand pounds {f I undertook it and succeeded. D “I believed that T cowld sweceed. And with six thousand pounds of my own, which lately 1 had begun to save as a dot, and sel:ing my rings—not only really valuable jewels—the sum which was the least Maxime had been instructed to ac- cept for the diamonds would be made up. “All night, after rehearsing for the play, in which I must soon be acting, I lay awake thinking. In the morning I wrote and asked Maxime if I might come and have tea with him in his office. I knew that he would say ‘Yes,” and he did. As soon as we were alone together 1 told him that in the course of three or four days at furthest 1 should be in a position to let him have seventeen thousand pounds, and that to do this would give me more joy than 1 had ever known. At first he would not accept; but I used all the elo- quence 1 had, amd he yielded at last to my tears, Then I pretended to be very gay, since the trouble was practically past. 1 begged him to give me one peep at some of the state papers kept in the safes. Of course, he ought not to have congented, but I implored, with kisses; and how could he refuse when I had just saved him from ruin? Remember, he trusted me—he trusts me now as he trusts himself. “He granted the favor T asked. He even pointed out, among others, the doc- vment of which I intended to rcb him. And through his help, all unwittingly given, 1 succeeded. I abstracted it by putting another, -which 1 had prepared, in its place. I betrayed him to save him. Do you comprehend?” “The thing itself I comprehend: but, by Jove!" I cried, “if you talked to me a hundred years I couldn’t see how you had the heart to do it.” en that is because you are a man. A woman would see. It was my love made me do it. There was no other way. And though there was a risk it was com- paratively small. As soon the thing was in my possession I made an excuse to leave Maxime. He took me out to my carriage, and as he helped me in Count Ipanoff passed. For my life I could not keep the blood from rising to my face. and as the man lifted his hat I saw the most awful look in his eyes. It was a menace. “1 was frightened. 8o much was at stake that for the first time in my life I lost my nerve. When I reached home I got the document which I had stolen ready to go to Lord Reckworth, with an urgent request that it should be sent back to me the moment it had been read and copied. I even went so far as to tell him why, having refused the undertak- ing, 1 had changed my mind; for I could not bear to have him suspect that Maxime de Ribaumont (whom he was aware 1 knew In the French Foreign Office) had betrayed his trust. I took the whole blame upon myself, and as- .sured him that, as suspicion might al- ready be on the wing, there was nothing for me but death if the treaty was not safely in my hands again within twenty- four hours. If suspicion should point the right way, and the treaty be looked for before it had been returned, it was the end of everything for me and another for whom I cared far more than myself. Now you know all-except two things. The first that T am almost certain Count Ipanoff was within sight of my house when I left it to send away my packet; the second that the document which is missing Is the actual treaty of alllance between Russia and France, whose term: until now, have been a profound secr: *“Good heavens exclaimed. * wonder that the Foreign Secretary called it important.” “A knowledge of its real terms was worth ten thousand pounds to the British Government,” said Juliette. ‘More, no doubt, if I had had time to drive a hard bargain. But to me—to Maxime—it is worth the whole world.” “He doesn’t know yet that it is gone?” “Mon Dieu! no. I shall be a dead wo- man before it comes to that.” “But if it« loss were discovered he would not necessarily suspect you, since he trusts you so entirely.” “Those who do not trust me would see that he had no doubt on that subject; and I would have the agony of knowing, as well as having lost his love and respect, that I_had ruined him. I could not live vith that knowledge.” “No; I agree with you here,” T re- sponded, gloomily. “Yet if this Ipanoff suspects—"" “Ah! I know what you would say. But it is only suspicion. He did not have enaugh evidence to lay before the authori- ties at the French Foreign Office. How could he, merely seeing me come out with Maxime? And it would be ruin for him to accuse a man and then be proved mis- taken. Don’t you see what he has done?” “No, I can’t say that I do clearly,” I answered. “Why, he, too, has dared a bold stroke. He informed the police that he had rea- son to belleve me a political spy in the pay of England, and, without venturing upon details which he could not substan- tiate, he declared that I had got posses- sion of secret information which 1 had forwarded to England. Ipanoff is shrewd enough to know that, if by Maxime's con- nivance, or without it, T took a document from the French Foreign Office, T would expeet it to be returned before it was missed; therefore, he would have stated that the British Secretary for Foreign Affairs would doubtless send back by messenger what he had received from me, and as quickly as possible. *“Of course, Lord Reckworth was watched; ahd you see that all your pre- cautlons as to hiding your identity were vain. Your name was known to the men who came to surprise us here—having fol- lowed me, no doubt; and if, as Ipanoff hoped, the document had been found on you or me, everything would have played nto his hands. The police would have seen for themselves what the stolen thing was, where it came from and how it must have been obtained, without his having compromised himself in the least. Indeed, he would have been rewarded, and have revenged himself upon me for refusing him and loving another. The only cause for rejoicing I have left is the thought of his blank disappointment when he hears from the commissary of police.” “You don't think then,” T asked, re- flectively, *“that it is through Ipanoff's agency that the treaty has so mysteri- busly disappeared?’’ “I would think it, if it weren't for the necklace,” said Juliette. ““There lies the heart of the mystery. Oh, to pluck it out! You travel to me with the treaty. It is gome. You know nothing of the necklace—so you say—yet you come to me with it In your pocket. You actually put it in nmiy hand—the Duchesse de Calais’ necklace, which was stolen from Maxime de Ribaumont days ago in Amsterdam.” “You are sure it is the same?" “‘Sure as that you are you and T am L Now, do2s it stand to reason that Count Ipanoff, even if he had the necklace to dispose of—-if it had come by some miracle into his possession—would de- liberately give it to you for me Instead of the treaty which he was taking away from you to ruin me. “No: it doesn't stand to reason,” T re- turned. ‘““But there {8 no reason in the affalr. It Is madness. T helleve we are both mad or dreaming.” “If I am not mad ) soon shall be. To think that T must go and play a part for the first time at the theater! How shall T live through it? By this time Maxime is on his way to make ohe of the audi- ence. He begged me to ‘et him take me to the theater, but T would not. You know why. In fifteen minutes the curtains will be rinzing up: but. thark heaven! I don't £o on tlll toward the ‘end of the first act. When 1 leave the stare to make ready for the second act Mexime will be at the door of my dreesir~-room. How shall I lock him in the faee?” “Will Ipanoff be in the audience also?" 1 asked, “T think it is cert~in thof he will be. Fe could not keen a~wov., But—he may— may be late in arriving. He will wait unti] he has heard the news of what hap- perned fhere.” “If only your theory of his proceedings is right, then, and if you are right, also, in vour hope that he has not the treaty at this moment in his clutches. we may still be comparatively safe for a few hours,"” ald. “Ah! Iffit were a hope! It is but a prayer. And there are no other sples besides Ivan Ipanoff whom I have to fear. Comparatively safe! Why we are as safe as if we were in a house with gunpowder stored underneath, and a train laid to fire it. Yet what is it all to you, Noel? I forget that you are an outsider.” «yYou can hardly tell me that.” I re- mf&. “Whatever comes now I am v‘:flr; you heart and soul; and 1 told you 2, am ready even to give my life to retrie v this failure of mine.h ;Alreldy I have mething, but—" nded, quickly. m‘.‘h(y hD;el of happiness with a woman whom I love as you love Maxine de Rib- aument,” I answered, bluntly, on the im- pulse. 'As I spoke the clock on the mantelplece struck eight. The questioning look left Jullette's face. Without comment on my words she said: “I must go. For pity's sake come to my house after the theater, and tell me what you have dome, won't you, for you will do something? “Yes. Everything a man can do. I will come."” “At midnight, then?” “At midnight.” Give me the diamonds, then, not delay another moment. : obcyzd. whereupon Jullette hastily gathered up her cloak, her gloves her vell, and was at the door befors I could open it. And and I'll CHAPTER VL A GREAT SURPRISE. T was glad when Jullette had gone, for, as I had told her, I wanted to think quletly, if my braln were equal to quiet thinking in my present mood of confused excitement. She had taken with her the necklace, but she had left the torn red-leather case. I picked it up and examined it carefully for the first time. It had not been originally intended as a receptacls for jewelry, that was clear; and as Ju ette had had sincerity in her voice when she denled all knowledge of it to the commissary of police, I judge that the diamonds had not been in it when they were entrusted to the Comte de Ribau- mont. The young man had probably de- scribed to her the box or case in which he had carried the jewels to Amsterdam, and if this shabby affair of red leather had answered his description, there would have been a light of astonishment in her eyes when the commissary of police had pulled it from the crevice of the sofa. The thing looked as if it might have been designed to hold a pecullar kind of clgar, much longer than the ordinary sort. On either side was a partition of =oft morocco, the same shade as the leather of which the case was made; and on the broken fastening was the mark which showed the discutored metal to be English silver. “English silver!” I repeated to myself. The three men who had traveled in the compartment with me from London to Dover had all been English. Of the three, only the little rat of a fellow had had any opportunity to steal the treaty from me, and thrust into my pocket in its place this old red leather cigar-case into which a diamond necklace, worth twenty thou- sand pounds, had been carelessly stuffed. If he had the skill and quickness of a marvslously clever professional pick- well @s the incentive of a spy, . either on the gangway of the boat or afterward in the Gare du Nord, have effected this extraordinary ex- change; but for my life I could not fathom the motive of it. Supposing” he were a pald s would the bribe offered by his employer reach anything like the sum he could obtain by selling the diamonds which in some in- explicable way had come into his posses- sion? I was certain that it would not. It would assuredly have been far more to the advantage of an unscrupulous and ambitious man to keep the diamonds in his own pocket, and let the document re- main in mine. It was astonishing, too, that In getting into the train at the last moment I should have chosen the one compartment of all others in which a spy, traveling with the object of robbing me, was sitting. If the fellow had been hired to steal a document which he knew I was carrying about me, why ¢hadn’t he followed my lead, instead of my following his? It looked as if the man had been a mesmerist, who by some subtle influence had drawn me into the compartment where he had already calm- ly taken his place. I didn’t really believe that this could have happened, of course; but everything was so queer that couldn’t help thinking of it. And it occur- red to me, too, that perhaps the tliree, instead of being antagonistic, as they ap- peared, had actually, in some obscure way, been playing into each other's hands. It was now not much after eight; and it was not yet two hours ago that I had saved the rat of a man from a fall in the raflway station. I decided to go back at once to the Gare du Nord and endeavor, if possible, to discover traces of the trio. It through any porter or cabman I could learn where they had gone, I might yet stand a chance of getting back the treaty. 1 had brought with me from home a loaded revolver, warned to do so by Lord Cholmondeley, and 1. was desperate enough now to use it quickly if I had the chance and the temptation. I was beginning to be very hungry, but that was a detall of no Importance. I would eat when I bad done my best to serve Juliette and Lord Reckworth (I'm afrald that now I placed her first in my mind), and not before. I looked about in the railway station untll 1 fourd a porter whase face I remembered seeing when I had been there before, and having slipped a franc into his hand to sharpen his wits, I began questioning him. Thus stimulated men- tally, he recglled the incident of the Ift- tle Englishman's fall and my catching him. He (the porter) had been directly behind me with some luggage when it had occurred. He was not quite certain, but he fancled he had seen the gent! man who had fallen get into a cab with two others. What they looked like he could not be sure; but yes. they were taller than the first gentleman, he had no doubt as to that. He belieyed that the cabman who had driven the party away had now returned to the station with his vehicle and if so he would point him out to me. I considered that thus far T was in luck, and my heart gave a trlumphant thump when I was Informed that the right cah- man had actually turned up, having driven into the station only ten minutes ago. I gave the porter a couple of francs more and followed him to question the driver. 7 He was a dull and surly fellow, like many anether Parislan cabman, but the sight of silver made him amenable. 1 informed him in French that I was look- ing for three Englishmen friends of mine Whom I was to have met at the rallway station when the boat-traln carme in, but T had been unavoidably prevented from Jjoining them. He reflected, sald they were English, one rather small and two rather large. They had had hand luggage, but no boxes. This sounded encouraging from my point of view, and as the cabman remembered the {l ‘e to which he had driven, T decidegsfo take the risk of run- ning them to earth. (Concluded Next Sunday.)