They ascended the broad, dark staircase noiselessly and crept along to a door which Fil-en-Quatre opened cautiously, when they found themselves in the big salon, a spacious, luxuriantly-furnished room, where many of the notables of Paris, both social and political, were wont to assemble.

Society was in ignorance of the true mÉtier of this wealthy Belgian, and as he entertained lavishly upon the money secretly supplied to him from Berlin, he was accepted at his own valuation, and was highly popular in the embassy set.

The little ray of light from Ralph’s lamp travelled slowly around, revealing quantities of bric-À-brac; but so much booty had they already obtained that the pair only selected two gold spoons from a glass-topped specimen-table, with a little box, also of chased gold.

As Ralph looked around, he again became seized by that uncontrollable desire to commit damage for the mere sake of wanton destruction; therefore drawing his knife, he slashed quickly at a big ottoman covered with old rose silk damask, cutting it across and across. Afterwards he treated a down cushion in the same fierce fashion, causing the feathers to fly about the room.

“Come—enough!” whispered “The Eel” at his elbow. “Where is the Baron’s room?”

“We’ve got to find it,” was the reply. “And, by Heaven! if the spy moves, I’ll put some lead into him!”

And together the pair stole forth on their tour of discovery.

The silent house was weird and full of distorted shadows. Through the long windows of stained glass which lit the great staircase the moon shone, its rays striking straight across the upper landing. Several of the doors were closed. They were bedrooms, evidently.

At one of them Ralph paused, raising his finger to command a halt. With the light touch of the expert he placed his fingers upon the door-handle, and, turning it, without raising the slightest click, he stole inside and stood in silence, listening attentively. All was dark, and there was no noise.

For a few moments he waited in patience. Then, hearing no sound of any sleeper, he switched on his little electric lamp, finding the apartment to be a small, well-furnished bedroom, but empty.

Both men examined it critically by the light of the torch, arriving at the conclusion that it contained nothing of worth.

Therefore, after Ralph had made a vicious slash at the satin-covered down quilt upon the bed, and also drawn his sharp knife across the carpet, severing it clearly, they went out to the next room, and to the next, with similar result.

Apparently the Baron did not sleep on that floor at all.

At last, however, they came to a locked door at the end of the corridor. A rapid examination showed that it had been locked from the inside, and the key was missing. Therefore, without further ado, Ralph knelt down at the lock, and with “The Eel” holding the little lamp, he commenced to attack the fastening with his skeleton keys. At such work he was an expert, for in three minutes the door stood open, and they found themselves standing in a small place, almost a box-room, for it only contained a plain little leather-covered table, set against the wall, and a chair; while in the opposite corner, upon a strong, wooden stand, stood a big, green-painted fireproof safe, about six feet in height.

Both men uttered ejaculations of surprise when their eyes fell upon it.

“The papers—the secrets of Germany—are in here!” Ralph exclaimed, in a whisper. “Come! There’s no time to lose. Let’s get at them. I hope this is the key. I suppose he preferred to keep it in hiding in the secret place in his writing-table than to carry it about with him.”

Taking the bright little key from his pocket, he examined it critically by the light of the lamp. Then he examined the maker’s name upon the brass plate on the safe.

“Yes,” he said, “I think I’m right. And if so, we shall each be richer by a couple of hundred thousand francs.”

“You don’t seem to like the Baron, Ralph!” whispered his friend, with a smile.

“Like him! Why, I hate him! I’ve been here before—as his visitor.”

“Is he really what you alleged—a German spy?”

“Yes. And I can prove it. Why, in doing what we are now we are acting as patriots, not as common burglars. We are acting for the honour of France.”

“And for our pockets, my dear fellow,” laughed his companion, as he bent beside him and watched him draw aside the brass cover of the lock and insert the key.

Gripping the big brass handle—for he knew the mechanism of that much-advertised make of safe—Ralph first turned it to the right. Then he turned the key, which worked evenly and easily, afterwards twisting the handle in an opposite direction.

Next moment, the bolts being shot back, the heavy, steel door came slowly open; but suddenly, at the same instant, a huge electric alarm bell in the main hall was set ringing.

At first so startled were they both that they did not move. But next second the truth dawned upon them.

“Diable! Let’s fly!” cried Ansell. “It’s all up! Across the garden and over the wall by the gate in the corner. Quick!”

Out of the room and down the stairs dashed the men like lightning. Along the corridor through the room by which they had entered, and out into the moonlight in the garden.

They heard loud shouts of alarm from the windows. Electric lights were being switched on everywhere, and loud cries were being raised of “Thieves! Assassins! Thieves!” while somebody fired three shots at them from a window as they crossed the grounds and sought concealment in the shadows.

As fast as their legs could carry them they made for the corner of the wall wherein was the Baron’s secret exit, and, scaling the wall with quick agility, were soon on the other side—and clear away.

As they ran back in the direction of the Bois de Boulogne they could hear shouts and cries of the Baron and his servants. Twice were revolvers emptied to attract the police, and then the hubbub grew fainter, and at last, beneath the deep shadow of a wall, they halted to regain breath.

“Never mind, Adolphe!” laughed Ralph; “we’ve got a nice haul, and it was an easy job, after all. I never expected the spy to have an alarm attached to the door of his safe. He’s a wary bird, after all!”

“Let’s get back to your place at once,” urged “The Eel.” “It will be growing light soon, and we ought to be in before anyone gets about.”

“You’re right. Jean will be wondering where we are—poor, innocent little thing,” he laughed, jeeringly. “I suppose she’s been fretting—but fretting always does a woman good.”

“Don’t speak like that, old chap,” said the other. “I don’t like to hear it.”

“Ah! You always take her part. You’re too chicken-hearted where women are concerned. A woman will be your ruin one day, mark me,” was Ralph’s reply. “But come along.”

And they hurried forward, in the direction of Ansell’s house.

Half an hour later, just before the first flush of dawn, the two men entered the weedy courtyard, and Ansell let himself in with his key. Their movements were stealthy; but, nevertheless, Mother Brouet, in suspicion of the truth, for she had known Fil-en-Quatre for several years, put her head out of her door, asking:

“Halloa, my boys! Something on—eh?”

“Yes, mother,” laughed Ralph lightly. “Something quite good. Keep your eyes open, and if anybody calls, we’re not receiving visitors—you understand! And there’s a couple of louis for you,” he added with a grin.

The old woman grasped the coins with her claw-like hand, saying:

“Tres bien, m’sieur,” and the head, adorned by curlers, disappeared.

The two men then mounted the stairs on tip-toe, and Ansell noiselessly unlocked the door of his apartment, believing Jean to be asleep.

But they found the lamp still burning as they had left it, the dirty plates still upon the table, and the atmosphere filled by the nauseous perfumes of petroleum.

Ralph’s quick eye caught the letter lying upon the table.

“Halloa! What’s this?” he cried, taking it up, glancing at the superscription, and tearing open the envelope.

He read through the brief, farewell message; then, crushing the paper in his hand fiercely, he stood for a few seconds without uttering a word.

“She’s gone!” he exclaimed at last; “and a good job, too. I’m freer without her; but, by Heaven! I’ll make her pay for deserting me like this! That I will!”

“Madame gone?” cried Carlier, starting in blank surprise.

“Yes.”

“Well, and I don’t wonder, after what you said to her last night. It was shameful.”

“That’s my own affair,” the other said. “It don’t concern you, so we need not discuss it.”

“Where has she gone?”

“I don’t know, and, moreover, I don’t care. You, however, seem to take a particular interest in her.”

“I hate to see a woman maltreated,” replied Adolphe frankly.

“I tell you it is no concern of yours,” replied the other, crushing Jean’s letter into his jacket pocket and tossing away his cap, while Adolphe re-bound his cut hand with the handkerchief which was already saturated with blood.

“Sit down and let’s have a drink,” said Ansell, lighting a candle, for the lamp was now very dim, and producing another bottle of red wine from the cupboard.

The pair seated themselves, and drank merrily to their own success, after which Ralph Ansell produced from his pockets the jewellery and the bundle of bank-notes, which he proceeded to examine.

Beneath the light of the single candle stuck in the tin candlestick the fine stones sparkled—diamonds, emeralds, and rubies—as “The American” produced them in a mass from his pocket and laid them upon the table.

“Quite a decent lot,” he remarked. “Old Levy will give us twenty thousand francs for them, if we pretend we’re not hard up. He went back to Amsterdam on Friday, but I’ll wire him later on, and get him over.”

“But we’re not hard up,” laughed “The Eel” with a grin of satisfaction.

“No—not quite,” answered his companion, taking off the india-rubber band from the bundle of notes and carefully counting them, one by one. There were seventy-five blue and pink notes of the Bank of France for one thousand francs each—or three thousand pounds, as well as the loose cash.

Ralph Ansell swallowed another glass of wine.

“I’m sorry we had such horribly bad luck with that safe,” he remarked. “But we were fortunate in getting away as we did. We were not a moment too soon, either.”

“They saw us cross the garden,” Adolphe said. “I don’t like being fired at.”

“By Jove! If I had met anyone he’d have gone down, I assure you,” declared Ralph. “I had my revolver ready.”

“A good job that we got out as we did. It is always a risky thing to try and get political papers. Remember the affair at the Austrian Ambassador’s, when a stranger offered poor Bonnemain twenty thousand francs to get certain documents? I kept watch outside the Embassy that night, and we were nearly caught—all of us.”

“Well—this is enough to keep the flag flying for a bit,” said Ansell, as he proceeded to divide the bank-notes, placing fifty in his own pocket and giving Adolphe twenty-five.

The men had some sharp words, as thieves always have when it comes to a division of the spoils, but Ansell claimed a double share because he had been the instigator of the affair.

Adolphe Carlier protested vehemently, gesticulating wildly; but at last, finding argument of no avail, he shrugged his shoulders and accepted the inevitable. He had had previous experience of Ralph’s overbearing American manners.

“Then you agree—eh?” asked Ansell, at last.

“I suppose I must,” was the response, as “The Eel” thrust a thousand pounds into the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Must! Why, it is only fair!” declared Ansell. “Without my guidance you would never have brought off such a coup. Now this stuff,” he added, indicating the jewellery. “I’ll keep it till I get the money from old Levy—eh?”

“Very well,” replied his companion. “But half shares of that, you know.”

“Of course. That’s agreed,” responded the other, and both lifted the tumblers of wine in celebration of their success and safety.

“Phew! How warm I feel,” exclaimed “The Eel.”

“Take off your coat, old fellow, and wait here till the morning, Then we’ll go out and wire to that old scoundrel, Levy,” urged Ansell. “We can both do with an hour’s rest after to-night’s work.”

“Right. But I’ll bathe my hand first. It is very painful.”

“Yes. Go into my room,” said the other, indicating the door.

Therefore Adolphe threw off his coat, hung it upon a nail, and, unwrapping his injured hand, entered the adjoining room, closing the door after him.

“You’ll find water in there,” shouted his host, whose face, at the moment, relaxed into a hard, sinister smile.

He placed his hand in his jacket pocket, and it came into contact with Jean’s letter.

The recollection of it maddened him. He remembered that the man in the room beyond had stood her champion, and had taken her part.

“Curse you!” he muttered, beneath his breath. “What business is it of yours—you soft-hearted fool?”

But scarce had the words fallen from his lips when the door opened suddenly, and the old woman from below, who acted as concierge, terrified and panting, entered, and with a loud whisper, cried:

“Ah, M’sieur Ansell. Quick! quick! The police are here! The commissary is asking for you. Quick! Get away, or you’ll be caught like a rat in a trap. You know the way. Leave the rest to me!”

And without another word she disappeared, closing the door after her, while the wanted man stood staggered, pale, and dumb.