that extravagance--as though it were a personal
and obvious injustice to himself. If it was all the fruit of blind
chance, if it came thus unearned and accidental, why should he not have
his share of it? Already Monte Carlo had taught him the mad necessity
for money. But now, of all times, it was necessary for him. One-half,
one-quarter, of the sum which this careless-eyed Slavic aristocrat had
carried so jauntily away from the Trente et Quarante table would endow
him with the means to come into his own once more. It was essential
that he secure his sinews of war, even before he could continue his
search for Frank, or rescue her from the dangers that beset her, if she
still wished for rescue. If he regretted the underground and underhand
steps through which that money could alone come into his possession, he
consoled his still protesting conscience with the claim that it was,
after all, only a battle of wit against disinterested wit. For,
self-delusively, he was beginning once more to regard all organized
society and its ways as a mere inquisitorial process which the
adventurous could ignore and the keen-witted could circumvent.
Warfare, such as his, must be a law unto itself!

Then he gave all his attention to the work before him, as he lifted
from the safe, first a small steel despatch box, neatly initialed in
gold, "I. S. P.," and then a packet of blue-tinted envelopes, held
together by two rubber bands, and written on, here and there, in a
language which the intruder assumed to be Russian. Next came a
japanned-tin box, which proved to hold nothing but a file of quite
unintelligible, Seidlitz-powder-colored papers, and then what seemed,
to Durkin's exploring fingers, to be a few small morocco cases. The
question flashed through his mind: What if, after all, the money he was
looking for was not to be found! He struck still another match, with
impatient hands. His first fever of audacity had burned itself out,
and some indefinite cold reaction of disdain and disgust was setting
in. Stooping low, he peered into the safe once more.

Then he gave a little sigh of relief. For there, behind a row of books
that looked like small ledgers or journals, he caught sight of a stout
leather bag, tied with a corded silk rope. He dropped the burned-out
end of the match, and, thrusting in an arm, lifted out the bag. As he
placed it on the floor the muffled click of metal smote on his ear. He
wiped the sweat from his