was
pale, and her right arm was tightly strapped across her breast to
prevent any movement of the injured shoulder, no one could have guessed
that she had recently undergone such a terrible experience.

But Brett, delighted as he was to meet his friends again under such
pleasant conditions, experienced the keenest sentiments of triumphant
elation when he entered the apartment where Dubois was still confined
under the watchful guard of two detectives.

Talbot accompanied him. The young Englishman had by this time quite
forgiven his enemy. He felt that he was more than quits with him.
Indeed, he was the first to speak when they came together.

"I am sorry to see it is your turn to be trussed up in bed, Dubois," he
said. "How are you feeling now? Getting along all right, I hope."

The Frenchman did not answer him directly. A faint smile illumined his
pale face. He turned to Brett with a nonchalant question--

"Mr. Brett, have you any influence with those two worthy Italian
doctors?"

"Perhaps," said the barrister. "What is it you want?"

"I want a cigarette. They won't let me smoke. Surely to goodness, a
cigarette won't hurt my arm."

The barrister turned a questioning glance towards the male nurse in
charge of the patient, but the man did not understand what had been
said. Brett, who spoke no Italian, indicated by pantomime what it was
the Frenchman required, and the attendant signified his sentiments in
silent eloquence--he turned and looked out of the window. So Dubois
enjoyed his cigarette in peace. He gave a sigh of great contentment, and
then said, lazily--

"Now, ask me anything you like. I am ready."

"There is only one point concerning which I am really at fault," began
Brett. "How did your Turkish associates manage to murder Mehemet Ali and
his secretaries so quietly?"

"Oh, that was easy enough," declared the Frenchman. "You understand I
was in no way responsible for the blood-letting, and indeed strongly
disapproved of it."

"Yes," replied the barrister. "I believe that."

"Well, the rest of the business was simplicity itself. Hussein--the
Envoy's confidential servant--was in our pay. It was, of course,
absolutely necessary to have an accomplice in the house, and his price
was a small one--five hundred pounds, I think. The credentials we
brought, which you, Mr. Talbot, examined, were not forgeries."

"How can that be?" cried Jack. "The Sultan would never be a party to a
plot for his own undoi