ok a sad farewell of the few little treasures which she had
brought from her own room in Oxford Street--knick-knacks, photographs,
and the like--and, putting on her hat, passed back across the
living-room, and then crept down the stairs and out--undiscovered and
unheard by the ever-watchful old woman in the black, knitted shawl.

Without a glance back, she gained the broad, well-lit thoroughfare, and,
turning to the left, went blindly and broken-hearted along in the
direction of the Bois, out into the world, sad, despairing, and alone,
heedless of where her steps led her, out into the unknown.

Meanwhile "The American" and "The Eel" were busy with their adventure.

To the left of the broad, main avenue, which, running through
Neuilly-on-Seine, crosses the river to Courbevoie, lived the wealthy
Baron de Rycker.

The house stood alone in a secluded spot, surrounded by its own spacious
grounds, and hidden from the road by a high wall. In this was a big gate
of ornamental iron, the top of which was gilded--a gate which the
_concierge_, who lived in the lodge beside it, always kept locked.

But, through the gate, the house itself could not be seen, because
plates of iron had been fixed half-way up, shutting out the view of
house and well-kept grounds from the public view.

As Ralph was aware, the _concierge_ was more than a mere lodge-keeper.
He knew who were the Baron's friends, and admitted them without
question, in whatever garb they might chance to be. But any inquisitive
person, or stranger, never got within that gate, or if they attempted,
they met with a warm reception from the fierce dog which constantly
prowled about the grounds.

The two men arrived in Neuilly soon after eleven o'clock and, entering a
_cafe_ near the river, remained there smoking and drinking coffee, till
midnight, when they went forth, treading lightly, for at "The Eel's"
lodgings in the Rue Lapage, off the Boulevard de Clichy, they had both
put on boots with india-rubber soles.

Passing the wall of the Baron's garden, they found all quiet and in
darkness.

Then "The American" went back as far as the gate and threw a stone
against the ironwork, with the result that the dog, which prowled there
at night, barked furiously.

That was what Ralph Ansell desired.

Taking from his pocket a stone, to which was tied by cotton a piece of
poisoned liver, he threw it over the gate and listened to it drop upon
the gravel.

In a moment the dog, w