d it to the yellow cigarettes.

He laid down the pen with trembling fingers. That same sense of
increasing distances which had heralded the stupor in the cab was coming
upon him again. The cell-like room seemed to be receding. Severac
Bablon's voice reached him from a remote distance:

"In future, Israel Hagar, seek to make--better use of
your--opportunities."

* * * * *

"Wake up, sir! Hadn't you better be getting home?"

Baron Hague strove to stand. What had happened? Where was he?

"Hold up, sir! Here's a cab waiting! What address, sir?"

The Baron rubbed his eyes and looked dazedly about him. He was half
supported by a police constable.

"Officer! Where am I, eh?"

"_I_ found you sitting on the step of the Burlington Arcade, sir! Where
you'd been before that isn't for me to say! Come on, jump in!"

Hague found himself bundled into the cab.

"Hotel--Astoria!" he mumbled, and his head fell forward on his breast
again.

CHAPTER VIII

IN THE DRESSING-ROOM

The house was very quiet.

Julius Rohscheimer stood quite motionless in his dressing-room listening
for a sound which he expected to hear, but which he also feared to hear.
The household in Park Lane slept now. Park Lane is never quite still at
any hour of the night, and now as Rohscheimer listened, all but holding
his breath, a hundred sounds conflicted in the highway below. But none
of these interested him.

He had been in his room for more than half an hour; had long since
dismissed his man; and had sat down, arrayed in brilliant pyjamas (quite
a new line from Paris, recommended by Haredale, a sartorial expert with
a keen sense of humour), for a cigarette and a mental review of the
situation.

Having shown himself active in other directions, Severac Bablon had
evidently turned his eyes once more toward Park Lane. Julius Rohscheimer
mentally likened himself and his set to those early martyrs who,
defenceless, were subjected to the attacks of armed gladiators. No
precautions, it seemed, prevailed against this enemy of Capital. Police
protection was utterly useless. Thus far, not a solitary arrest had been
made. So, now, in his own palatial house, but with a strip of cardboard
lying before him bearing his name, underlined in red, Rohscheimer
anticipated mysterious outrage at any moment--and knew, instinctively,
that he would be unable to defend himself against it.

Again came that vague stirring; and it se