e it turns into the _Place Letitia_
it is quiet and unfrequented at night. A film of tobacco smoke wavered
in and out among the guttering candles and streamed round the empty and
part empty champagne bottles. At the head of the table sat Breitmann,
still pale and weary from his Herculean labors. His face was immobile,
but his eyes were lively.

"To-morrow," said Breitmann, "we leave for France. On board the moneys
will be equally divided. Then, for the work." His voice was cold,
authoritative.

"Two millions!" mused Picard, from behind a fresh cloud of smoke. He
picked up a bottle and gravely filled his glass, beckoning to the
others to follow his example. At another sign all rose to their feet,
Breitmann alone remaining seated, "To the Day!"

Breitmann's lips grew thinner; that was the only sign.

Outside, glancing obliquely through the grilled window, stood M.
Ferraud. He had not seen these worthies together before. He knew all
of them. There was not a shoulder among them that he could not lay a
hand upon and voice with surety the order of the law. Courage of a
kind they all had, names once written gloriously in history but now
merely passports into dubious traffics. Heroes of boulevard exploits,
duelists, card-players; could it be possible that any sane man should
be their dupe? After the strange toast he heard many things, some he
had known, some he had guessed at, and some which surprised him. Only
loyalty was lacking to make them feared indeed. Presently he saw
Breitmann rise. He was tired; he needed sleep. On the morrow, then;
and in a week the first blow of the new terror. They all bowed
respectfully as he passed out.

The secret agent followed him till he reached the _Place des Palmiers_.
He put a hand on Breitmann's arm. The latter, highly keyed, swung
quickly. And seeing who it was (the man he believed to be at that
moment a prisoner in the middle country!), he made a sinister move
toward his hip. M. Ferraud was in peril, and he realized it.

"Wait a moment, Monsieur; there is no need of that. I repeat, I wish
you well, and this night I will prove it. What? do you not know that I
could have put my hand on you at any moment? Attend. Return with me
to the little house in Rue St. Charles."

Breitmann's hand again stole toward his hip.

"You were listening?"

"Yes. Be careful. My death would not change anything. I wish to
disillusion you; I wish to prove to you how deeply y