he did not say who
it was from?"

"No."

"Look at the writing again and tell me if by any chance it comes from
the Marquis."

"That's a woman's writing," said the man.

"But not a writing you know?"

"Quite strange to me."

When he was alone, Seth locked his door and again examined the writing.
His master only knew one woman in Paris, and surely she could not be
writing to him. She must know where he was. If she didn't, then in some
fashion Latour had deceived him. He put the letter on the table and
began to walk slowly about the room.

"It is right that I should open it," he said suddenly. "It may be a
matter of life and death to Master Richard. He will forgive me."

He took up the letter, and after a little hesitation tore it open.

"It is from her," he said, glancing at the name on the last of the
scraps of paper of which the letter was composed. "I was right to open
it."

He sat down by the table and read it slowly, certain portions of it he
read a second time, and at intervals made a sound with his mouth like an
oath cut short, or a gasp of surprise half suppressed. So Latour had
lied, and Bruslart had lied, and mademoiselle was--

"A life and death matter! It's true. It is. Oh, Master Richard, where
are you? It's your letter. She calls to you. What can I do?"

The words were muttered in hot haste as though the answer must come
quickly. It did.

"Your letter, yet mine since you are not here. So your work becomes
mine, Master Richard. I must rescue mademoiselle. How? Let me think. Let
me think. God, help me to think."

There was a slow, heavy footstep upon the stairs, and in a moment Seth
had hidden the letter. Then a knock at the door. Seth opened it, and
stood face to face with Jacques Sabatier, who had his finger upon his
lip.

"Let me in, citizen. I have turned traitor and have a story to tell."

CHAPTER XXI

THE MARQUIS DE CASTELLUX

Much the same thing had Sabatier said to Richard Barrington only that
morning.

"Deputy Latour will not believe in you," he explained. "He is a fool as
I have told him each day, giving him your message, and I am tired of
serving fools. A day or two, monsieur, and you shall be free. Sabatier
promises that. I am turning traitor."

Barrington thanked him, he could do no less, yet he felt little trust in
a man who could confess so glibly to treachery. He would believe the
promise when his prison door stood open, when he was free to walk out
unhinder