se accursed pamphlets have found their way into the possession
of many of the rank and file of our own order. There is a marked
disinclination on the part of those who have been our slaves to accept
orders from anyone. Espionage we can still command--the best, perhaps,
in Europe--because here we use a different class of material. But of
those underneath we are, for the moment, doubtful. Paris is all in a
ferment. Under its outward seemliness a million throats are ready to
take up the brazen cry of revolution. One trusts nobody. One fears all
the time."

"You or I!" Peter repeated slowly. "It will not be sufficient, then,
that we find Bernadine and deliver him over to your country's laws?"

"It will not be sufficient," Sogrange answered sternly. "From those he
may escape. For him there must be no escape."

"Sogrange," Peter said, speaking in a low tone, "I have never yet killed
a human being."

"Nor I," Sogrange admitted. "Nor have I yet set my heel upon its head
and stamped the life from a rat upon the pavement. But one lives and one
moves on. Bernadine is the enemy of your country and mine. He makes war
after the fashion of vermin. No ordinary cut-throat would succeed
against him. It must be you or I."

"How shall we decide?" Peter asked.

"The spin of a coin," Sogrange replied. "It is best that way. It is
best, too, done quickly."

Peter produced a sovereign from his pocket and balanced it on the palm
of his hand.

"Let it be understood," Sogrange continued, "that this is a dual
undertaking. We toss only for the final honour--for the last stroke. If
the choice falls upon me, I shall count upon you to help me to the end.
If it falls upon you, I shall be at your right hand even when you strike
the blow."

"It is agreed," Peter said. "See, it is for you to call."

He threw the coin high into the air.

"I call heads," Sogrange decided.

It fell upon the table. Peter covered it with his hand, and then slowly
withdrew the fingers. A little shiver ran through his veins. The
harmless head that looked up at him was like the figure of death. It was
for him to strike the blow!

"Where is Bernadine now?" he asked.

"Get me a morning paper and I will tell you," Sogrange declared, rising.
"He was in the train which was stopped outside the Gare du Nord, on his
way to England. What became of the passengers I have not heard. I knew
what was likely to happen, and I left an hour before in a 100 h.p.
Charron."

Peter