ldier--who heard our
story to an end without interruption, and promised to give us all
assistance. He sent at once for the doctor, and held my shoulder
tenderly while the ball was taken from it. This he kept, together with
Miste's revolver, and indeed acted throughout with the greatest
shrewdness and good sense. As an old campaigner he strongly urged me
to remain quietly at St. Martin for a few days until the fever which
inevitably follows a bullet wound should have abated; but, on learning
that it was my intention to proceed at once to Genoa, placed no
difficulty in my way.

Knowing that I should find Sander at Genoa, where I could be tended,
Giraud decided to remain at St. Martin Lantosque until Miste had been
buried and all formalities observed.

So I set forth alone about midday--in a private carriage placed at my
disposal by some local good Samaritan--feeling like a worm and no
man.

Chapter XXVII

The Hand of God

"Chacun ne comprend que ce qu'il retrouve en soi."

Mr. Sander only made a mistake common to Englishmen when he underrated
the capacity of his neighbour. Hearing from his colleague in Nice that
Miste had left that city for St. Martin Lantosque, with us upon his
heels, Sander concluded that our quarry would escape us, and with
great promptitude set forth to Cuneo to await his arrival there.

Before leaving Genoa, however, my agent took steps to ensure the
transmission of his correspondence, and a telegram despatched by
Giraud from St. Martin, after my departure thence, duly reached the
addressee at Cuneo. On arriving, therefore, at Genoa, and going to the
Hotel de Genes there, I found, not Mr. Sander, but a telegraphic
message from him bidding me await his return.

"At what time," I asked the waiter, "arrives the next train from
Cuneo?"

"At eight o'clock, signor."

I looked at the clock. It was now seven.

"There is a steamer sailing this evening for South America," I said.

"Yes, signor; with many passengers from this hotel."

"At what time?"

"At seven o'clock--even now."

A minute later I was driving down to the docks--my swimming head full
of half-matured ideas of bribing some one to delay the steamer. Then
came the blessed reflection that, in the absence of Miste, his
confederate would certainly not depart alone. I knew enough of their
tactics to feel sure that instead of taking passage in the steamer
this man (who could only be a subordinate to that master in cunni