When Ashton-Kirk and his aide reached the sidewalk a man in a cloth cap approached.

"Mr. Culberson is awaiting orders," said he.

"Tell him to call off his men," replied the secret agent promptly.

Without comment, the man in the cloth cap walked away. Fuller was amazed.

"You have changed your plan?"

"Our affairs do not wear the aspect they bore when I called upon the Culberson Agency for help," said the secret agent.

There was an unemployed taxi-cab by the curb a little distance away; they got into this and in a short time were put down at their hotel. The secret agent asked some question of the clerk, which the latter seemed to answer in the negative; then they ascended to Ashton-Kirk's apartments.

The secret agent threw himself into a comfortable chair and drew a tobacco pouch toward him. As he rolled a cigarette he said:

"We must lie idle until I get a call from Burgess."

"He is in Washington, then?"

"Yes; I had a few words with him over the wire while at Von Stunnenberg's. The secretary told him that I was there."

Through the open window the drone of the night could be heard. It was now perhaps two o'clock, and the city was deep in sleep. From somewhere in the distance a car could be heard passing now and then; occasionally the smooth hum of a motor, or the sharp "clup-clup" of a cab horse sounded nearer at hand. In silence the two young men sat smoking; half an hour went by and then the telephone rang, brusquely. Ashton-Kirk sprang to the receiver.

"Hello," said he.

The voice of Burgess made reply.

"Everything right," said he. "I followed them from the embassy to the Tillinghast."

"The Tillinghast!"

"Yes, I'm speaking to you from there."

"I will be with you in a very few minutes." Then as an afterthought, the secret agent added, "They are all there, I suppose."

"They all came here—yes. And they held a consultation in a small reception room on the second floor. After this the young fellow went out."

"I see."

"Those men of Culberson's came in mighty handy. One of them followed him."

"He has not returned?"

"Not yet."

"Very well."

Ashton-Kirk hung up the receiver, and reached for his overcoat.

"Is it the Japs?" asked Fuller, expectantly.

But the secret agent shook his head.

"No," said he, "it is not the Japs. But," and the other noted the speculative look come into his singular eyes, "I rather think we shall see something more of those very interesting personages before the night is over."

A cab took them to the Tillinghast in less than a quarter of an hour. It was a huge, ornate place, showily furnished and glaring with lights. In an office floored with marble and rich with gilt and mirrors, they found Burgess, engaged in conversation with a clerk. He greeted Ashton-Kirk eagerly.

"You are just in time," said he. "The young man just came in, and two Japanese were with him."

Ashton-Kirk smiled as though well pleased.

"I rather fancied that he had gone to fetch them when you told me that he had gone out," said he.

"I hope," said the hotel clerk, earnestly, "that this matter is nothing that will harm the credit of the house."

"Not in the least," Ashton-Kirk assured him, smoothly. "It is more than likely that it will never even be heard of outside ourselves."

The clerk breathed freer.

"In that case," said he, "it's all right. And now, gentlemen, seeing that it is a government affair, if there is anything that I can do, I will do it cheerfully."

"Thank you," replied the secret agent.

As he spoke there came the sound of a buzzer; a youth at a telephone called:

"A waiter in Parlor F."

"That's the parlor your party is occupying," said the clerk, interestedly.

"Hold the waiter until I can speak to him," said Ashton-Kirk. He considered a moment. "This Parlor F," he added, "does it communicate with any other room?"

"Yes, with Parlor G."

"Excellent!" After a few more questions to which the clerk returned pointed answers, Ashton-Kirk gave Fuller and Burgess some low-voiced instructions. "And now," he said to the clerk, "I will see the waiter, if you please."

The man was a Swede with sandy hair and mild blue eyes; and his name was Gustave.

"Gustave," said the secret agent, "how long have you been a waiter?"

"Fifteen years," replied the Swede.

"In that time," said Ashton-Kirk, "you should have learned your business pretty well."

Gustave grinned mildly.

"Oh, yes," said he.

Ashton-Kirk handed him a coin.

"When you go into Parlor F," said he, "forget what you have learned. Be clumsy. Make a noise. Do something that will draw people's attention to you for a little."

Again Gustave grinned.

"I will forget," said he, slipping the coin into a pocket. "The peoples will not be pleased, but I will forget."

That he kept his promise was evinced by sundry crashes and exclamations which came from Parlor F shortly after; and in the midst of these Ashton-Kirk entered the room adjoining and unlocked the communicating door. Then Gustave retired, followed by a series of remarks in a voice that was strange to the secret agent, and for a few moments there was no sound save the clinking and clash of glasses.

"Such a clown," said the voice, "such a clown to be sent to serve gentlefolks. It could happen in no other country but this."

"Will you please come to the matter in hand?" said the gentle voice of Okiu. "You sent for us for a specific purpose, and we should be greatly obliged if you would hold to that, Mr. Karkowsky."

Karkowsky laughed in the manner of a man who was very well contented with himself.

"Of course, of course," said he. "Business is always a pleasure to me. Especially very profitable business such as this will prove to be."

"We do not ask your price," said a voice which the secret agent recognized as that of Matsadi. "We merely desire to be certain that the paper is ready for delivery."

"You may rest assured upon that point," replied Karkowsky. "Drevenoff, show him the scapular."

There was a moment's pause, during which the secret agent could well imagine the young Pole drawing the desired object from his pocket.

"There!" said the triumphant voice of Drevenoff. "There it is. And see here where the edge has been opened—the paper."

Karkowsky laughed once more.

"Ah," said he, contentedly, "these little matters! What a time we have in hunting them out—what a chase they sometimes lead us. And how glad we feel when it is all over."

"There would have been no chase in this matter at least," said Matsadi, "if you had lived up to your word in the first place."

"Not my word, my dear sir," spoke Karkowsky. "That has always been good. But one cannot always depend upon the steadfastness of a boy."

"I am as steadfast as you," broke in the voice of Drevenoff. "But blood is thicker than water."

"I will not deny that," said Karkowsky, soothingly. Then, as though turning to the others, he added: "It happened this way. This was a wild lad. Russia drove him out. He fled to this country. When his father came with Count Malikoff they became reconciled. He was permitted to return home. But he was a Pole; he hated Russia; and beside that, I pointed out a chance to make a fortune. He stole the document which we now have here."

"And then," said Okiu, "you opened negotiations with Tokio. And when all had been settled, you would not turn the instrument over to us for the price asked."

"That," said Karkowsky, "was the result of the indiscretion of a very young man. I could not turn it over to you. Drevenoff had given it to his father."

"What else would you have me do?" demanded the young Pole, warmly. "Could I see him wrongfully accused, disgraced? No. I returned the paper, told him what I had done, and stood willing to have him do with me what he would."

"But his father," said Karkowsky, "was afraid to act; he feared for himself and for his son. He hid the paper in his scapular, and when dying gave it to the English physician."

"He was afraid to trust a Russian—he dreaded to risk giving the paper into the hands of one who might profit by it. I know that was his reason, because I knew my father," said Drevenoff. "But the Englishman attached no importance to the scapular; he placed it among his effects and forgot it. If my father gave him any instructions with regard to the disposal of it, he also forgot them."

"I reasoned out what must have become of the scapular when this young man came to me after his father's death," said Karkowsky. "He was then willing, once more, to join me in the sale of the paper, because," and the man's laugh was full of mockery, "there was no near and dear one who could be harmed by it."

"Because you would sell your soul, Karkowsky," said young Drevenoff, "don't think me a fool if I would not."

"I beg your pardon," said the elder Pole, "I meant no offense. And as to selling my soul for so little money, don't believe it. If I ever come to such a transaction, my dear child, the price will be of some consequence."

"And when you reasoned that the English doctor must have what you desired," said the smooth voice of Okiu, "you began your operations?"

"At once," answered Karkowsky. "We took ship to England, located him at Sharsdale, and went to work on the matter. We tried everything, but with the same lack of success."

"From what you said a few moments ago," said Matsadi, "you think that Dr. Morse was unaware of the document's existence."

"At first I did not dream of such a thing," said Karkowsky, "and, indeed, it was not until after he had come to America that it occurred to me. On going to Sharsdale I tried to open negotiations with him; I tried the same here. But in neither case did he rise to the bait. But now I am convinced that he never knew the thing was in his possession."

Matsadi laughed.

"Then, Okiu," said he, "all your planning was wasted."

"So it would seem," replied Okiu, gently.

"We suspected that you had some hand in the queer communications which Dr. Morse received from time to time," said Karkowsky. "We knew that it was not by chance that you took the house directly behind him. Drevenoff," with a laugh, "tried to get your man to talk many times, but could not."

"Humadi," said the Japanese agent, "never talks."

Here there was a sort of rustling sound; the swish-swish of silken skirts over the floor; then a new voice spoke, a voice which made Ashton-Kirk breathe a quiet sigh of content.

"I think you have rambled long enough in this thing. It will not benefit any of us in any way to know what the others have done to gain possession of the paper. That it is here is, I think, sufficiently to the point."

There was a subdued clapping of hands at this.

"Bravo, Julia," cried Drevenoff. "To business, I say. That is what we are here for."

"Exactly," spoke Karkowsky. "That is what we are here for. The price——"

"Is what was named before," interrupted Julia. "And the paper is to be delivered when the money is turned over."

"To-morrow?" asked Matsadi.

"To-morrow will do very well," said Karkowsky. "Ready money—no checks, or drafts," cunningly. "They are things not always to be trusted. The hard coin, or the downright bank-note; that is what pleases me in a case like this."

"To-morrow, at noon," said Matsadi, curtly. There was a drawing back of chairs and the sound of several persons arising. "You can be seen here, I suppose?"

"Yes," replied Karkowsky. "We will come here. Have the money in large bills, if possible," with a laugh; "we don't care to be loaded down, if it's to be avoided."

"It shall be as you desire," said Matsadi. Then there came the sound of footsteps crossing the floor of Parlor F, and a door opened. "Good-night," said Matsadi.

"Good-night," replied the others.

Softly Ashton-Kirk opened the communicating door, and stepped into the room. Karkowsky was just about closing the door leading into the hall; at his side was Drevenoff and a girl with flaxen hair. As the door clicked behind the Japanese the girl threw up her hands and laughed triumphantly.

"Alexander," she cried, "it is ours at last! We have won! In spite of all they could do—in spite of the clever American, we have won!"

She threw her arms about the neck of Drevenoff; but as she did so there came a queer, throaty cry from Karkowsky; and then for the first time since he had entered the room, she saw Ashton-Kirk.