e I had witnessed and it was on
the tip of my tongue to mention it. But would it further infuriate
her? So I refrained from alluding to it.

Her attitude towards me had completely altered. She was hard-mouthed
and indignant, which, after all, was but natural.

"My whole future is in your hands," I added.

She still hesitated. A word from her and not only would I be arrested,
but Rayne would probably be exposed and arrested also. She seemed, I
feared, to be aware of the whole organization, hence she was one of
the last persons who should have been marked down as a victim. Rayne
had evidently committed a fatal error.

"Well," she said at last, "I am open to remain silent, and the matter
shall never be mentioned between us--but on one condition."

"And what is that?" I asked anxiously.

"I am in want of someone to help me. Will you do so?"

"I will do anything to serve you if you give me my liberty," I said,
much ashamed.

"Very well, then. Listen," she said in a hard, strained voice. "If you
resolve, in return for my silence, to assist me, you will be compelled
to act at my orders without seeking for any motive, but in blind
obedience."

"I quite understand," I replied. "I agree."

No doubt she desired me to act against her enemy--the young fellow who
had extracted fifty pounds from her by threat.

"You must say nothing to a soul but meet me in secret in Paris. Stay
at the Hotel Continental where I shall stay on the night of the
twenty-fourth. That is next Wednesday. At ten o'clock I shall be on
the terrace of the Cafe Vachette in the Boulevard St. Michel. Remember
the day and hour, and meet me there. Then I will tell you what service
I require of you. I shall leave here to-morrow, and I suppose you will
leave also." And she opened her jewel-case to reassure herself that
her pearls and other ornaments were safe.

So she forgave me, shook my hand, and I went out of the room with the
cold perspiration still upon me.

I made no report of my failure to Rayne, but on the following
Wednesday night, after taking a room at the Continental, in Paris, an
hotel which I knew well, I crossed the Seine at about half-past nine,
and at ten o'clock sauntered up the boulevard to the popular, and
rather Bohemian, Cafe Vachette, where at a little table in the corner,
set well back from the pavement, I found her seated alone. She was
wearing the same dark cloth coat in which I had seen her when she met
the mysterious stranger