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 had the 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 in my 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 I do know. If you hope ever to see your child again, you had better listen to what I 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 do not get away safely, that address will not be 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 how she 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. Stapleton immediately. 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 to see 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. "Leave the 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.

The black-bearded fellow quickly replaced the handcuffs upon his own wrists. "Quick, Ramond," he cried. "Let us get out at once."

Grace was by this time in the room. She knew that she must in some way prevent these men from escaping. But how—how? They glared at her ominously. The younger man drew a revolver. Before any of them could speak, the servant appeared in the doorway for the third time. His face was pale as death. His knees knocked together from terror as he beheld the gleaming revolver, the man lying upon the floor.

"Monsieur Duvall is here!" he gasped, and stood silent.

The man on the floor, recovering his senses, began to struggle to his feet. As he did so, Duvall pushed his way past the frightened servant and strode into the room.

"Quick, Monsieur Duvall!" the fellow with the revolver cried. "I am from the Prefecture. I have one of the kidnappers in irons. The other," he pointed to the struggling man on the floor, "is about to escape me. Give me your assistance at once!"Grace was so astounded by the sudden entrance of her husband, as well as by the kidnapper's words, that for a moment she remained speechless. Duvall bent over the man upon the floor and seized him by the throat.

"Richard! Richard!" Grace screamed, forgetful of Monsieur Lefevre and her own disguise. "Look out!"

Almost before the words had left her lips, the man with the revolver brought it down with a dull thud upon Duvall's head as he bent over the prostrate man; then, grasping his companion by the arm, he rushed from the room.

"Richard! Richard!" screamed Grace, throwing her arms about the senseless body of her husband.

Mr. Stapleton, who had entered the room, regarded her in amazement. "What are you doing?" he exclaimed.

Grace rose, her face white with suffering. "A doctor, quick! He is hurt! My God—don't you see? He is hurt!" As she spoke, she fell back, fainting, to the floor.