I could rely. Now they've accounted for him, we've
scarcely a chance of getting at the truth."

Mr. Simpson was gloomily silent for some moments. He was thinking of the
time when he had struck his pencil through a recent Secret Service
estimate.

"Anyhow," Hunterleys went on, "it will be all over in twenty-four hours.
Something will be decided upon--what, I am afraid there is very little
chance of our getting to know. These men will separate--Grex to St.
Petersburg, Selingman to Berlin, Douaille to Paris. Then I think we
shall begin to hear the mutterings of the storm."

"I think," Mr. Simpson intervened, his eyes fixed upon an approaching
figure, "that there is a young lady talking to the maitre d'hotel, who
is trying to attract your attention."

Hunterleys turned around in his chair. It was Felicia who was making her
way towards him. He rose at once to his feet. There was a little murmur
of interest amongst the lunchers as she threaded her way past the
tables. It was not often that an English singer in opera had met with so
great a success. Lady Hunterleys, recognising her as she passed, paused
in the middle of a sentence. Her face hardened. Hunterleys had risen
from his place and was watching Felicia's approach anxiously.

"Is there any news of Sidney?" he asked quickly, as he took her hand.

"Nothing fresh," she answered in a low voice. "I have brought you a
message--from some one else."

He held his chair for her but she shook her head.

"I mustn't stay," she continued. "This is what I wanted to tell you. As
I was crossing the square just now, I recognised the man Frenhofer, from
the Villa Mimosa. Directly he saw me he came across the road. He was
looking for one of us. He dared not come to the villa, he declares, for
fear of being watched. He has something to tell you."

"Where can I find him?" Hunterleys asked.

"He has gone to a little bar in the Rue de Chaussures, the Bar de
Montmartre it is called. He is waiting there for you now."

"You must stay and have some lunch," Hunterleys begged. "I will come
back."

She shook her head.

"I have just been across to the Opera House," she explained, "to enquire
about some properties for to-night. I have had all the lunch I want and
I am on my way to the hospital now again. I came here on the chance of
finding you. They told me at the Hotel de Paris that you were lunching
out."

Hunterleys turned and whispered to Simpson.

"This is very important," he s