unlatched the door, a fat man with a
bristling red mustache and keen eyes pushed forward into the room where the
lovers were waiting. Two burly policemen followed him.

"Ah!" exclaimed Gibelin with a gesture of relief as his eye fell on
Kittredge. Then producing a paper he said: "I am from headquarters. I am
looking for"--he studied the writing in perplexity--"for M. Lo-eed
Keetredge. What is _your_ name?"

"That's it," replied the American, "you made a good stab at it."

"You are M. Lo-eed Keetredge?"

"Yes, sir."

"You must come with me. I have a warrant for your arrest." And he showed
the paper.

But Alice staggered forward. "Why do you arrest him? What has he done?"

The man from headquarters answered, shrugging his shoulders: "I don't know
what he's done, _he's charged with murder_."

"Murder!" echoed the sacristan's wife. "Holy angels! A murderer in my
house!"

"Take him," ordered the detective, and the two policemen laid hold of
Kittredge on either side.

"Alice!" cried the young man, and his eyes yearned toward her. "Alice, I am
innocent."

"Come," said the men gruffly, and Kittredge felt a sickening sense of shame
as he realized that he was a prisoner.

"Wait! One moment!" protested the girl, and the men paused. Then, going
close to her lover, Alice spoke to him in low, thrilling words that came
straight from her soul:

"Lloyd, I believe you, I trust you, I love you. No matter what you have
done, I love you. It was because my love is so great that I refused you
this afternoon. But you need me now, you're in trouble now, and, Lloyd,
if--if you want me still, I'm yours, all yours."

"O God!" murmured Kittredge, and even the hardened policeman choked a
little. "I'm the happiest man in Paris, but--" He could say no more except
with a last longing look: "Good-by."

Wildly, fiercely she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him
passionately on the mouth--their first kiss. And she murmured: "I love you,
I love you."

Then they led Kittredge away.

[Illustration: "'Alice, I am innocent.'"]

CHAPTER V

COQUENIL GETS IN THE GAME

It was a long night at the Ansonia and a hard night for M. Gritz. France is
a land of infinite red tape where even such simple things as getting born
or getting married lead to endless formalities. Judge, then, of the
complicated procedure involved in so serious a matter as getting
murdered--especially in a fashionable restaurant! Long before the
commissar