be
careful not to be seen by Despujol. He is a wary bird, remember!"

Then, unseen by Mademoiselle, he entered a first-class compartment of
the train, just as the signal was given to start.

The train moved off, and I was left alone. Surely much had happened in
those few exciting moments!

But why had Mademoiselle Jacquelot warned her friend the motor-bandit?
If she had warned him because of Rivero's inquiries concerning
Despujol then she could also warn the latter. Again it was curious
that she met Sanz, and did not meet Despujol. Further, it was a
strange fact that the pair of Spanish criminals had not travelled
together--unless there was some reason for it.

Perhaps there was.

I watched Mademoiselle as she passed out of the station to a little
restaurant where she had a frugal meal. Then she returned and took a
ticket back to her home in Castelsarrasin.

Rivero now had his hands full. Not only had he identified in the
respectable commercial traveller, Charles Rabel, the notorious
assassin Despujol, but he had also quite accidentally come across Sanz
the motor-bandit, who of late had terrorized the south of Spain, and
whose daring depredations were upon everyone's lips. Mademoiselle
seemed to be a friend of both men!

I returned to my hotel close by, and ate my _dejeuner_ alone. My
position was a very unenviable one, for I feared to go over into the
town lest I should come face to face with the man who had so cunningly
made an attempt upon me as the hireling of Oswald De Gex.

But my thoughts were ever of my beloved, the girl who was the victim
of some foul plot into which I, too, had been drawn--a mystery which I
was devoting my whole life to solve.

At five o'clock that evening I received a telegram from Harry in
Madrid, telling me that all was quiet, and "our friend"--meaning De
Gex--never went out.

To this I replied in a cryptic way that our suspicions had been
verified, and that the person of whom we were in search we had
discovered. We were only now waiting for the appointment to be kept at
the Hotel de Luxembourg at Nimes.

Next day passed uneventfully. In order to kill time I took train to
the quaint little town of Moissac, an ancient little place on the Tarn
about twenty-five kilometres distant, and there spent the hours
wandering about the countryside which is so famed for its grapes in
autumn. I did not return to Montauban till after seven, and while I
sat at dinner the waiter handed me an