what a curious echo
you have in this old room."

"I had not noticed it; but to continue."

"These English refused to have any thing to do with your business, you
say?"

"Yes; and showed fight when I would have used force to detain them."

"Then if the judge knows that, the young fellows will be released?"

"Yes; but, my dear friend, it is not likely I shall go to the court to
give evidence in their favour."

"You will."

"Nonsense."

"I shall take you there."

There was something in his visitor's manner that made Lenoir first
start from his seat and make a hasty movement towards the table.

But he recoiled when Hocquart Clermont Delamarre thrust a revolver in
his face and exclaimed--

"If you make another movement towards that drawer where your pistols
are, I will send a bullet through you. Keep your hands down by your
side."

"What in the fiend's name does this mean?" gasped the coiner.

"It means that you are my prisoner."

"Prisoner."

"Yes."

"Then who are you?"

"You have known me as Clermont, but my real name is Delamarre."

"The detective?"

"The same."

The coiner gave a hasty look round the apartment, and then made a step
towards the door.

But it instantly opened, and there appeared a police officer in
uniform, who said--

"If you attempt to pass this door, you are a dead man."

The window!

It was not very high above the roadway, and one bold leap might yet
bring liberty.

But, as if reading his very thoughts, Delamarre gave one of those
peculiar raps on the table, which was again echoed from without, and
instantly the figure of a policeman armed with a revolver was seen
filling the casement.

The chimney!

That he knew was crossed by strong bars. No exit that way.

"Sit down, Pierre Lenoir."

The detective was provokingly cool, and the coiner gnashed his teeth
with rage.

"Sit down, man; why, you ought to feel proud at being taken so neatly."

"Curse you!"

"Never mind. I have the finest and easiest pair of wristbands any
gentleman in your line of business ever wore. Let me try them on."

Lenoir for a moment contemplated resistance, but two revolvers were
close to his head, so second thoughts prevailed.

He was firmly handcuffed.

"Now, Pierre," said the detective, "listen to me, and I will quickly
prove that I am a far better friend than you think me."

The coiner smiled a bitter smile.

"Of course it doesn't look so; but listen."

"I am compelled to,