us peace about the woman. I'm sick to death of all such nonsense. We're
due in a couple of hours. I think I'll try for forty winks." He threw
away his cigar and tucked his rug about him.

McCutcheon glanced at him, and, seeing that he was in earnest, handed
the paper back to Billy.

"Thanks, Mac!" Blake murmured. "Sorry if I was a bear! Don't switch off
the light, it won't bother me." He nodded, smiled, drew his rug closer
about his knees, and settled himself to sleep with the ease of the
accustomed traveller.

For close upon an hour complete silence reigned in the heated carriage.
Blake slept silently and peacefully; Billy went methodically through his
papers, dropping them one by one at his feet as he finished with them;
McCutcheon smoked, gazing into space with the blank expression of the
strenuous man who has learned to utilize his momentary respites; while,
stretched along the cushions of the carriage, his face hidden, his eyes
wide open and attentive, lay the young Russian, his fingers tentatively
caressing the treasure in the pocket of his coat.

But at last the spell was broken. The diplomatic Englishman dropped his
last paper, and McCutcheon stretched himself and looked once more at his
watch.

"Paris in an hour, Billy! Didn't those loafers in the dining-car promise
us coffee somewhat about this time?"

Billy looked up, unruffled of mind and body as in the first moment of
the journey. "I believe they did," he said. "Tell you what! You jog