way--for a time! My play comes on later, when the deal is
with me!"

He sprang lightly ashore, and was chatting with the gold-banded porter
of the Hotel Faucon, when a lovely face, thrilling in its awakened
emotion, met his glance at the window of a carriage. He dispatched
his luggage to the Faucon, and sprang lightly in the carriage when
the omnibuses had departed for the Lausanne plateau. Alan Hawke was
carefully differential in his greeting and he meekly answered all the
rapid queries of his mysterious employer.

"You have closed up your own private affairs?" she briskly queried.

"All is ready for the road in one day more. I have a private social
engagement for to-morrow," he replied. "But I brought you all the
sailing dates and the detailed information you requested."

"You obtained the pictures safely, then, and with a prudent caution,"
anxiously demanded Madame Louison.

"You shall know all soon. I hope that I have satisfied you!" he said,
handing her a packet, failing to tell her that he had kept two pictures
of the far-away girl for his own private use. They were now near the
plateau where the Hotel Faucon shows its semi-circular front to the
splendid panorama unrolled before its windows.

An afternoon concert was in progress at the Casino, near the local
museum. "We will stop here for a few moments," said the excited woman.
"You can go on alone, and walk over to the hotel and secure your own
rooms. Then send your card up to me in the usual manner. To-night we
will go out separately and meet for a conference. We can arrange all
our business." The Major bowed submissively, and assisted the lady to
alight.

Madame Louison dismissed her carriage, and the confederates-to-be
entered the afternoon concert room. A superb orchestra was playing the
finishing bars of the last number on the program, and the audience had
dwindled away to a few knots of demure residents. Following his passive
policy, the adventurer sat silently, stealing oblique glances at
his companion as she nervously unfolded the wrappings of the coveted
pictures. There was a gasp, a low moan, as the woman's head fell back.
Alan Hawke's strong arms were clasped round her, as she leaned back
helplessly in her fauteuil. But a smile of secret triumph was on his
face as he quickly bore the helpless form to an anteroom at once opened
by the frightened ushers. Berthe Louison's face was corpse-like in its
pallor, as she lay there upon a divan, her fing