look upon his friend's face.

"Does it matter, Hanaud?" he asked, with some solicitude.

"It matters--" and Hanaud rose up abruptly.

The boy's voice sounded louder in the street below. The words became
distinct to all upon that balcony.

"The Aix murder! Discovery of the jewels!"

"We must go," Hanaud whispered hoarsely. "Here are life and death in
the balance, as I believe, and there"--he pointed down to the little
group gathering about the newsboy under the trees--"there is the
command which way to tip the scales."

"It was not I who sent it," said Ricardo eagerly.

He had no precise idea what Hanaud meant by his words; but he realised
that the sooner he exculpated himself from the charge the better.

"Of course it was not you. I know that very well," said Hanaud. He
called for the bill. "When is that paper published?"

"At seven," said Lemerre.

"They have been crying it in the streets of Geneva, then, for more than
half an hour."

He sat drumming impatiently upon the table until the bill should be
brought.

"By Heaven, that's clever!" he muttered savagely. "There's a man who
gets ahead of me at every turn. See, Lemerre, I take every care, every
precaution, that no message shall be sent. I let it be known, I take
careful pains to let it be known, that no message can be sent without
detection following, and here's the message sent by the one channel I
never thought to guard against and stop. Look!"

The murder at the Villa Rose and the mystery which hid its perpetration
had aroused interest. This new development had quickened it. From the
balcony Hanaud could see the groups thickening about the boy and the
white sheets of the newspapers in the hands of passers-by.

"Every one in Geneva or near Geneva will know of this message by now."

"Who could have told?" asked Ricardo blankly, and Hanaud laughed in his
face, but laughed without any merriment.

"At last!" he cried, as the waiter brought the bill, and just as he had
paid it the light of a match flared up under the trees.

"The signal!" said Lemerre.

"Not too quickly," whispered Hanaud.

With as much unconcern as each could counterfeit, the three men
descended the stairs and crossed the road. Under the trees a fourth man
joined them--he who had lighted his pipe.

"The coachman, Hippolyte," he whispered, "bought an evening paper at
the front door of the house from a boy who came down the street
shouting the news. The coachman ran back into