his cigar. "His place will be
hard to fill--very hard."

"I know, Darnborough," remarked Lord Bracondale gravely. "To such a man
the country ought to erect a monument, for he has laid down his life for
his country. But, alas! our country recognises no heroes of the Secret
Service!"

And as the Cabinet Minister spoke the telephone-bell rang. He crossed to
his writing-table, took up the instrument, and responded to an urgent
call from the House of Commons in London, where an important and heated
debate regarding our foreign relations was in progress.

CHAPTER VI.

THE SAFE-BREAKERS.

The day had been hot and stifling in London--one of those blazing days
when the tar on the roadway perfumes the air, the dry pavements reflect
back the heat into one's face, and the straw-hatted Metropolis--or the
portion of it that is still in town--gasps and longs for the country or
the sea.

The warm weather was nearly at an end, and most holiday-makers were back
again. London's workers had had their annual fortnight long ago, and had
nearly forgotten it, and now only principals were away golfing, taking
waters at Harrogate, Woodhall Spa, or in the Scotch hydros, or perhaps
travelling on the Continent.

From the high-up windows in Shaftesbury Avenue, close to Piccadilly
Circus, Ralph Ansell looked down upon the busy traffic of motor-buses,
taxis, and cars, the dark-red after-glow shining full upon his keen,
clean-shaven face.

He was already dressed to go out to dinner, and as he stood in his cosy
bachelor rooms--a pleasant, artistic little place with soft crimson
carpet, big, comfortable, leather arm-chairs, and a profusion of
photographs, mostly of the fair sex, decorating mantelshelf and
walls--his brows were narrowed and he blew big clouds of cigarette smoke
from his lips.

Suddenly the door opened and a man, shorter and rather thick-set, also
in evening clothes, entered. He was evidently French, and possessed
neither the good looks nor the elegance of Ansell.

"Ah! my dear Adolphe!" Ralph cried in French, springing forward to
welcome him. "I hardly expected you yet. Your train from Paris was not
late--eh? Well, how goes it?"

"Infernally hard up--as usual," was his visitor's reply, as he tossed
his black overcoat on to the couch, flung his soft felt hat after it,
and then sank into a chair. "Why all this emergency--eh?"

The man who spoke was of low type, with black, rather curly hair, sharp,
shrewd eyes like