ticed any unusual
interference during the past few days? How long will it take you to
secure answers to those questions--authoritative answers?"

"An hour."

Crochard glanced at his watch.

"It is now ten o'clock. At eleven, you will arrange for a conference
with M. Delcasse. There must be no one present but we three."

"M. Crochard," said Lepine, drily, "I do not like your imperatives. I am
not accustomed to them."

"M. Lepine," Crochard retorted, "my way of speaking is my own, and I am
too old to change. In this affair, it is you who work with me, not I
with you. Shall we go on, or shall we stop here?"

Lepine trembled with a severe inward struggle. Crochard impressed and
fascinated him; but his terms were humiliating.

Crochard met his gaze, read what was behind it, and leaned forward again
across the table.

"Lepine," he said, "have I ever failed to do a thing I promised?"

"No."

"I shall not fail this time."

"What is it you promise?"

"I promise," said Crochard, and raised his right hand solemnly, as
though registering an oath, "I promise to find the man who destroyed
_La Liberte_, and to save my country!"

Lepine gazed at him for a moment, then pushed back his chair and rose to
his feet. The patriot in him had triumphed.

"Where shall the conference with M. Delcasse take place?" he asked.

Crochard smiled at the question and at the little man's impassive face.

"Lepine," he said, "on my word, you touch greatness sometimes, and I
find myself admiring you! Let the conference take place at M. Delcasse's
apartment. Oh, yes; you will have a closed carriage waiting at the
private entrance."

"At eleven o'clock," agreed Lepine.

"At eleven o'clock," repeated Crochard, and waved his adieu. Then, as
the door closed behind that erect little figure, he sank back into his
seat with a chuckle and touched a bell.

An inner door, concealed so cleverly in the wall that even Lepine's
sharp eyes had not perceived it, opened and a man looked in.

"He has gone," Crochard said. "Bring some wine, Samson, and two
glasses."

The door closed, but opened again in a moment to admit the man, with
bottle and glasses. He placed them on the table, went back to make sure
that the door was closed, and then sat down opposite Crochard. Why he
should be called Samson, unless in derision, was hard to understand, for
he was a mere skeleton of a man, with a face like parchment. But the
brow was high and the eyes bright and