lourish afterwards."

"Duncombe," his friend said gravely, "nothing will happen to you at the
Cafe Montmartre. Nothing ever does happen to any one there. You remember
poor De Laurson?"

"Quite well. He was stabbed by a girl in the Rue Pigalle."

"He was stabbed in the Cafe Montmartre, but his body was found in the
Rue Pigalle. Then there was the Vicomte de Sauvinac."

"He was found dead in his study--poisoned."

"He was found there--yes, but the poison was given to him in the Cafe
Montmartre, and it was there that he died. I am behind the scenes in
some of these matters, but I know enough to hold my tongue, or my London
letter wouldn't be worth a pound a week. I am giving myself away to you
now, Duncombe. I am risking a position which it has taken me twenty
years to secure. I've got to tell you these things, and you must do as I
tell you. Go back to London!"

Duncombe laughed as he rose to his feet.

"Not though the Vicomte's fate is to be mine to-night," he answered.
"The worse hell this place is the worse the crew it must shelter. I
should never hold my head up again if I sneaked off home and left the
girl in their hands. I don't see how you can even suggest it."

"Only because you can't do the least good," Spencer answered. "And
besides, don't run away with a false impression. The place is dangerous
only for certain people. The authorities don't protect murderers or
thieves except under special circumstances. The Vicomte's murderer and
De Laurson's were brought to justice. Only they keep the name of the
place out of it always. Tourists in shoals visit it, and visit safely
every evening. They pay fancy prices for what they have, but I think
they get their money's worth. But for certain classes of people it is
the decoy house of Europe. Foreign spies have babbled away their secrets
there, and the greatest criminals of the world have whispered away their
lives to some fair daughter of Judas at those tables. I, who am behind
the scenes, tell you these things, Duncombe."

Duncombe smiled.

"To-morrow," he said, "you may add another victim to your chamber of
horrors!"

CHAPTER VIII

DUNCOMBE'S "HOLD-UP"

The amber wine fell in a little wavering stream from his upraised glass
on to the table-cloth below. He leaned back in his chair and gazed at
his three guests with a fatuous smile. The girl in blue, with the
dazzlingly fair hair and wonderful complexion, steadied his hand and
exchanged a meaning lo