e to earth in Nice. Wait for me. I
follow by day mail."

The message was from Alphonse Giraud.

I laboured all day in Madame's interests, and re-engaged some of the
servants who had been scattered by the war and Commune, and a fear,
perhaps, of acknowledging any sympathy for the nobility.

In the evening I met Alphonse Giraud on his arrival at the Gare du
Nord, and found him in fine feather, carrying a stick of British oak,
which he had bought, he told me, for Miste's back.

"It will not be a matter of hitting each other with walking sticks," I
answered.

We drove across to the Lyons station, and took the night mail to
Marseilles. It was my second night out of bed. But I was hardy in
those days, and can still thank God that I am stronger than many of my
contemporaries.

"Confound you!" cried Alphonse to me the next morning as the train
raced down the valley of the Loire. "You have slept all night!"

"Of course."

"And I not a wink--when each moment brings us nearer to Miste. You are
no sportsman after all, Dick."

"He is the best sportsman who has the coolest head," replied I,
sleepily.

We arrived at Nice in the afternoon. The very pavement smelt of heat.
At the station a man came up to me, and, raising his hat, spoke my
name. He handed me a letter, which I read then and there.

"The bearer is watching Miste in Nice. I am going to stop the passages
by Ventimiglia and the Col di Tende. Miste has evidently appointed to
meet his confederate at Genoa. Two passages have been taken on the
steamer sailing Saturday thence to Buenos Ayres."

The letter was unsigned, but the handwriting that of my astute agent,
Sander. Things were beginning to look black for Monsieur Miste. I saw
plainly enough that Sander was thinking only of the money, and meant
to catch both the thieves. The bearer of the letter, who was a
Frenchman, said that he had his eye on Miste, who was staying in the
old inn of the Chapeau Rouge at the top of the Quai Massena, and
passed for a commercial traveller there.

"Monsieur must not molest my charge," he said. "Mr. Sander has so
ordered. It is probable that Miste has in his possession only a
portion of the money."

[Illustration: "ARE WE MEN?" RETORTED ALPHONSE, IN RESPONSE, AS HE
WRESTLED WITH HIS SHIRT COLLAR, "OR ARE WE SCHOOLGIRLS? TELL ME THAT,
MR. THE POLICEMAN!"]

We went to the Hotel des Anglais, and there wrote fictitious names in
the police register; for it was impossible to be to