quality and condition in life, neglecting the one simple obvious
solution to which so many plain indications pointed. The man, of
course, was a detective, an officer or private agent, and his dirty
business--you see, I was already shaken in my honesty, and now with
increasing demoralization under seductive influences I was already
inclined to cross over to the other side of the frontier of crime--his
dirty business was the persecution of my sweet friend.

"What are we to do now?" asked Mrs. Blair, her nervous trepidation
increasing. "I begin to think we shall fail, we cannot carry it
through, we shall lose our treasure. It will be taken from us."

"You cannot, you must not, shall not turn back now," said the maid
with great determination. "We must devise something, some way, of
outwitting this Falfani. We did it before, we must do it again. After
all he has no power over us; we are in France and shall be in
Switzerland by daylight."

"We ought to go on, you think? Wouldn't it be better to slip out of
the train at the first station and run away?"

"He would do the same. He does not intend to let us out of his sight.
And how much the better should we be? It would be far worse; we should
be much more at his mercy if we left the train. The journey would
still have to be made; we must get to the end, the very end, or we'd
better not have started."

"He will know then, if he sticks to us. We cannot hide it from him,
nor where we have taken it; we shall never be able to keep it, they
will come and claim it and recover it;" and she cried hysterically: "I