cker we're out of this place, the better."

I saw he had hurriedly packed, and that his receipted hotel bill lay
upon the dressing-table.

"Where are we going?"

"I'll tell you to-morrow. Give this wire to the night-porter and tell
him it's to be sent at ten o'clock to-morrow morning."

I read the message. It was to Mademoiselle, to say that he could not
call, as he was compelled to go to Hyeres, but that he would dine at the
Bristol that evening.

"And," he added, "get your traps together. We're leaving here, and we
leave no trace behind--you understand?"

I nodded.

Was the game up? Were we flying because the police suspected us? I
recollected the long-nosed man, and a serious apprehension seized me.

I confess I slept but little that night. At half-past six I went again
to his room, and found him already dressed.

Motorists often start early on long excursions on the Riviera; therefore
it was deemed nothing unusual when, at a quarter-past seven, we mounted
on the car and Bindo gave orders--

"Through the town."

By that I knew we were bound east, for Italy.

He spoke but little. Upon his face was a business-like look of settled
determination.

At the little _douane_ post near Ventimiglia, the Italian frontier, we
paid the necessary deposit for the car, got the leaden seal attached,
and then drew out upon the winding sea-road which leads right along the
coast by San Remo, Alassio, and Savona to Genoa.

Hour after hour, with a perfect wall of white dust behind us, we kept on
until about three o'clock in the afternoon, when we pulled up at an
hotel close to the station in busy Genoa. Here we swallowed a hasty
meal, and at Bindo's directions we turned north up the Ronco valley for
Alessandria and Turin, my companion explaining that it was his intention
to re-enter France again by crossing the Mont Cenis.

Then I saw that our journey into Italy was in order to throw the French
police off the scent. But even then I could not gather what had actually
happened.

Through the whole night, and all next day, we travelled as hard as we
could go, crossing the frontier and descending to Chambery, where we
halted for six hours to snatch a brief sleep. Then on again by Bourg and
Macon. We took it in turns to drive--three hours each. While one slept
in the back of the car, the other drove, and so we went on and on, both
day and night, for the next forty-eight hours--a race against time and
against the police.

F