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IT was three months before Jim came out of hospital, and even then his arm was stiff. The expanding bullet had torn the ligaments badly, and for quite a time the doctor had looked grave.

"A long course of electric massage is essential," he said emphatically. "Otherwise I warn you seriously that your arm may remain like that permanently. There's a wonderful new man in Paris: give you his name if you like."

"We might do worse, Dick," remarked Jim. "They tell me that there are worse places."

"Confound you," I said. "What about those two trunks of perfectly good clothes I left in Nagasaki?"

"What about your perfectly good uncle," he laughed, "who has left you all his money? Besides, we shall probably never get as far as Paris—so nothing matters."

We started anyway, and, amazing to relate, in the fullness of time we got there. But we had a little contretemps en route which might have ended very unpleasantly but for Jim. And it bore out in a rather remarkable manner one of his theories on life.

Jim is the least dogmatic man in the world, but there are certain things on which he holds definite opinions—very definite. Some of those opinions are hardly suitable for propagation in a Sunday School: some are—though they are not down in the text books. But they are all worth listening to. And the particular one to which I am alluding is his theory on the matter of Bluff. Moreover, since you can't get through life without bluff, it may be worth while stating it, as I once heard Jim state it to a youngster who asked his advice.

"Bluff, my son, is winning an unlimited jackpot with a queen-high hand from a fellow with three aces, and upsetting the table before you can be asked to show your openers. Bluff, my lad, is getting a man with a gun pointed at the pit of your stomach to look the other way for just long enough to allow you to alter the target. Bluff, my boy, is, in short, the art of winning a game with losing cards, and the essence of that art is to play the hand right through as if you held winners without a thought of failure. Not a touch of hesitation, not a moment of doubt."

And if ever there was a case when a game was won with losing cards, the affair at Monte Carlo was it.

When we left Port Said in a home-going P. & 0. we never intended going near the place. Paris was our destination via Marseilles, but you never can tell.

Incidentally the purser's humour had something to do with it, if such a great being as the purser has anything to do with arranging the menus. The Gulf of Lyons was at its worst, which means that food should be chosen with care. And to select pork chops for dinner simply shows a fiendish ingenuity not far short of diabolical. In tens and dozens weeping women and frenzied men lurched from the dining saloon, until but a bare score of hardened sinners were left endeavouring to conceal their unseemly mirth.

It was the uncontrolled joy of a very pretty girl sitting two tables away from us that principally attracted our attention. I had noticed an elderly man who had been sitting beside her rise suddenly and depart with a fixed and glassy stare in his eyes. And it being an ill wind in more senses than one, his place had immediately been taken by a boy who moved up from the other end of the table.

We knew the boy slightly—a great youngster by the name of Jack Rawson. He was in cotton at Alexandria—a junior member of one of the big firms, and he was returning to England on business. And after a while Jim turned to me with a faint smile and then looked across again at the pair of them.

"The only story in the world, old man," he remarked, "that is older than sea-sickness."

"Who is the girl?" I asked.

"An Australian, I think. Jack told me her name. Mother is at Nice, and I suppose the bird who fled from the crackling is Father."

We finished our dinner and went above. She was pitching very badly in a long following swell, and for an hour or so we strolled up and down the almost deserted deck. And it wasn't until we were thinking of a nightcap before turning in that we stumbled on Jack Rawson and the girl snugly ensconced in a sheltered corner. We tried to get away unnoticed, but the boy hailed Jim at once.

"Maitland," he cried, "I want to introduce you to Miss Melville, my fiancÚe."

Jim bowed gravely and smiled.

"My heartiest congratulations," he remarked. "A pork chop is sometimes a godsend, isn't it?"

"Poor old Daddy," said the girl with quick remorse. "I'd forgotten all about him. But I couldn't help laughing, because he always tells everyone he's never been sick in his life. I'd better go and see how he is."

"From my knowledge of the complaint," said Jim, "I don't think he'll thank you. Complete seclusion is generally the victim's one demand of life."

And so she stopped, and for a few minutes we talked. Young Jack, we gathered, was getting out at Marseilles, and going to meet her mother at Nice. Then he was going back overland so as to arrive in London at the same time as he would have done if he'd stuck to the boat. And then the question of his father would crop up. In fact, fathers loomed rather large on the horizon. For the engagement had only been fixed that night, and Mr. Melville was also in ignorance of the devastating effect of pork chops on the young and healthy. Which was where the trouble came in. Would he have sufficiently recovered by the following morning to make it advisable to spring the news on him? Or would he regard it as a mean advantage to have taken while he was otherwise employed? It was undoubtedly a point demanding careful consideration. So much depends on the way these matters are approached.

The girl was dubious. She was convinced that next morning would be fully occupied in listening to his explanations that it was not the rough sea which had caused his indisposition, but that his bit of fish at lunch had been slightly stale. The moment would not be opportune, she was sure. And that being the case, why should Jack suddenly alter his plan of going home by sea, and come to Nice? In fact, what was to be done? How could Jack come to Nice in an easy, natural manner, which should cause no suspicion on the part of her paternal parent, and at the same time allow the news of the engagement to be broken at a more favourable time?

We discussed the knotty point at some length, until Jim suddenly settled things in his usual direct way. He and I would also break our journey at Marseilles and go to Nice, or rather to Monte Carlo, and Jack would come with us. It was, as he remarked, part of every man's education to see the Casino, and more especially the people who frequented it, and since Jack had never seen it, it was high time he did so. If, when he got there, Jack was foolish enough to prefer going over to Nice and sitting in the sunshine with his girl rather than haunting a roulette table, it was a point which hardly arose at that stage of the proceedings.

And with that we left them, cutting short their thanks, and retired to the smoking-room. Half an hour later, as we turned in, I saw them still sitting in their secluded corner, dreaming God's great dream in a world of their own.

* * * * *

Somewhat needless to state, we did not see much of young Jack during the next three or four days. We lounged about the terrace, and had a mild flutter or two at the tables. But the place irked—irked terribly. It was so intensely, superlatively artificial. And Jim particularly sickened of it.

"By Jove, Dick," he said to me on the fourth night of our stay, "I've seen more primitive sin in my life than most of the people here put together, but I don't believe there's a place in the whole world where quite so much rottenness is concealed beneath a beautiful surface as in Monte."

A lovely French girl strolled by in the company of an elderly swain of puffy aspect, and glanced at Jim as she passed. He looked at her thoughtfully, and then turned to me with a faint shrug.

"I suppose she thinks it's worth it," he remarked. "But what a price to pay! I'm no moralist, but I like things big. Big virtues; big sins if you like. But in this place the only thing that is big is the price."

And then he fell silent and stared over my shoulder. "Hello!" he went on slowly, "here's Jack Rawson. And something has happened."

I turned round and saw the boy coming towards us. He was walking unevenly, and on his face was a look of hopeless despair.

"Well, young fellow," said Jim quietly as he came abreast of us, "what's the worry?"

Jack paused, and seemed to see us for the first time. Then, with a quick shake of his head, he made as if to pass on. But he had only gone a step or two when Jim's hand fell on his shoulder and spun him round.

"Let me go, confound you!" muttered the boy.

"All in good time, old man," said Jim in the same quiet voice. "Just at the moment I think a little talk will clear the air."

He forced Jack to a seat between us, and suddenly put his hand into the boy's coat pocket.

"This won't help, Jack," he said a little sternly, and I saw that he had a small revolver in his hand. "That's never the way out, except for a coward."

And it was then that the boy broke down, and I caught Jim's eye over the shaking shoulders. It was savage and angry, as if he realised, even then, that we were in the presence of another of those rotten little tragedies which have their breeding ground in those few square miles. Jack pulled himself together after a few seconds and lit a cigarette while we waited in silence. And then bit by bit the whole sordid story came out—as old as the hills and yet perennially new in every fresh case.

The engagement was all right, we found out, as far as her father and mother were concerned. The only question had been one of money. Her father didn't think that Jack's income was sufficient to allow of matrimony yet; further, he thought that in view of the shortness of their acquaintance a little waiting would be a good thing from every point of view. He wouldn't go so far as to say that if Jack had actually had the money he would have insisted on a long engagement, but since he hadn't, he thought it was much the most satisfactory solution. And it was just after this interview with Mr. Melville that Jack met a very charming Frenchman in a bar at Nice. He was the Comte de St. Enogat, and they had entered into conversation.

It was at this stage of the disclosure that Jim's eye again met mine.

Apparently one cocktail had been followed by another; and then a third and fourth had joined their predecessors. And Jack, drawn on by his new friend's delightful and sympathetic manner, had taken the charming Comte de St. Enogat into his confidence. After four—or was it five?— cocktails the problem was a simple one. The girl's father—a silly old fool—insisted that he should have more money before he could many his daughter. How was he to get that money quickly and certainly, because any idea of waiting was simply unthinkable? After five—or was it six?—cocktails the solution to the problem was even simpler.

The Comte de St. Enogat, touched to the very core of his French soul by such a wonderful tale of devotion and love, would do for this new friend of his what he had never before done for any human being. Locked in the Comte's heart was a system—the system—the onlysystem by which one could with absolute certainty make money gambling. If Jack would come with him that afternoon he would take him to a private gambling place where he guaranteed on his word as a member of the French nobility that Jack would win enough money to snap his fingers at the idiotic father of his lovely fiancÚe.

And Jim's eyes met mine for the third time.

He lunched at the expense of his new friend—lightly, with a bottle of champagne; and then proceeded in the Comte's powerful Delage to a villa half-way between Nice and Monte Carlo. A charming villa, we gathered, where he was introduced to one or two of the Comte's friends. And then after a short while the Comte suggested an adjournment for business. There was roulette in one room, and baccarat in another. Petits-chevaux, poker, and even fan-tan seemed to be legislated for each in their own separate room. But the great point over which Jack was most insistent was the singular charm of everyone he met.

"Quite so," cut in Jim shortly, as he paused. "I'm sure they were. But to come down to more prosaic details—which game did you patronise?"

"Baccarat," said the boy. "The Comte advised it."

"Holy smoke!" muttered Jim. "Baccarat! Yes, I can quite imagine that he did advise it."

"He said it was the easiest to make money at by his system."

"Undoubtedly," answered Jim. "Quite the easiest to make money at—for him. Now, Jack, what did you lose?"

The boy hesitated.

"Out with it," said Jim. "You've been a triple-distilled young fool, but there's no good mincing things now."

"A hundred thousand francs," answered Jack, almost inaudibly, and leaning forward he buried his face in his hands.

Jim raised his eyebrows. A hundred thousand francs was four thousand pounds in those days before currencies went mad, and the same thought came to both of us. Where had young Jack Rawson found four thousand pounds to lose?

"Did you give them a cheque?" asked Jim quietly.

And then, slowly and hesitatingly, the real trouble came out. He hadn't given them a cheque; it wouldn't have been honoured if he had. But he had been entrusted with twenty thousand pounds' worth of bearer bonds in some Egyptian Government security to take home with him and hand over to the head office of the firm in London. Why the matter had been done that way we did not inquire; the mere bald fact stuck out and was sufficient.

Jack Rawson had lost four thousand pounds of money which belonged to his firm, playing baccarat. And since the actual loss was in bearer bonds, not even the replacing of the money could save him from detection. Nothing short of regaining the actual scrip could be of any use. And unless that was done it meant disgrace and ruin for the boy sitting miserably between us.

So much was clear on the face of it, and for a while we sat in silence staring over the bay. "I was a bit tight," he stammered miserably at length. "Otherwise I wouldn't have been such a darned fool. But he seemed such a good sort, and all I could think of was getting enough to marry Peggy."

And with that he broke down utterly; it meant losing his girl as well.

"When did it happen, Jack?" said Jim quietly.

"This afternoon," answered the boy.

"You'd know the house again?" pursued Jim.

"Only too well," muttered Jack, miserably throwing pebbles into a flower- bed opposite. And then suddenly he straightened up and gripped Jim by the arm.

"Look, Maitland," he cried excitedly, "there's the swine himself! There's the Comte de St. Enogat."

He half rose, but Jim pulled him back.

"Sit down," he said quietly. "Bend forward. Don't let him see you with us. It's that man, is it, in evening clothes, walking with the girl in the scarlet cloak?"

"Yes; that's the blighter," answered the boy.

We watched him as he ascended some steps a few yards to our left, and turned with his companion towards the Casino. He looked, as Jack had said, a charming man—just a typical French aristocrat carrying himself with the assured ease of a man of the haute monde in Monte Carlo during the height of the season. The girl with him was laughing at some remark he had just made; he was bending towards her with just the right amount of deference. And after a few moments they both disappeared into the Casino.

Jim thoughtfully lit a cigarette, and sat for a while in silence. Then, as if he had made up his mind, he rose to his feet and pitched his cigarette away.

"Go back to the hotel," he said curtly, "and turn in. I'll see what I can do."

It was typical of Jim that he added no word of reproach, and at once cut short the stammered thanks of the boy, in whose eyes hope was already beginning to dawn.

"Cut all that out," he remarked. "I don't promise that I'll be able to do anything, but I'll see. Oh! and remember one thing. Should you meet either Leyton or myself tomorrow or at any time with the Comte, you don't know either of us. Don't forget. Now clear off."

For a moment he laid his hands on the boy's shoulders, then he turned him round and pushed him towards the hotel.

"Silly young ass!" he said to me as Rawson disappeared round a corner. "But he's a good boy for all that—a real good boy. And she's a good girl."

"It's a bit of a tough proposition, Jim," I remarked dubiously.

"I don't deny it," he answered. "At the 'moment I haven't even the glimmering of an idea as to how to set about it. This place may be a sink of iniquity, but anything in the nature of gunwork would render one unpopular. No, it's got to be something more subtle than that, much more subtle. The first thing to do, however, is to cultivate the acquaintance of the Comte de St. Enogat; the second is to go to this house. I think we'd better separate for the time, old man, though we might join up later in the evening. I'll go on into the Casino now—you come in in a few minutes. And then be guided by circumstances. We just know each other, that's all."

With a cheery grin he strolled away, that merry gleam in his eyes which was never absent if an adventure was on the cards. I watched him enter the Casino, and five minutes after I followed him.

I strolled round the rooms casually, but he seemed to have disappeared, and after a while I tried the bar. Sure enough there in a corner was Jim, with a dangerous-looking drink in front of him, the Comte de St. Enogat on one side and the charming girl in the scarlet cloak on the other. And the trio were in a convivial mood.

At least Jim was. Had I been asked to go into a court of law and give evidence on oath as to Jim's condition, I should have said that he was in that happy mood which comes from having drunk enough but not too much. And since Jim, if put to it, could put three hardened topers in succession under the table drinking them level, it was evident that the game had begun.

As soon as he saw me he hailed me cheerfully.

"Hullo! Leyton, old lad," he cried, "come and join us. A pal of mine, Mademoiselle—also from the ends of the earth." I bowed to the girl and sat down opposite Jim.

"I've just been telling the Comte—oh! by the way, the Comte de St. Enogat—Mr. Leyton—that I can't stand these rooms here. Too crowded altogether. I like gambling high; I can afford to gamble high. I've gambled in every corner of this little old globe, and there's not much I don't know about it. But I can't stand a crush. Hi! Francois—or whatever your name is—repeat the dose, my lad."

"And I have just been telling your friend, Mr. Leyton," said the Comte with a charming smile, "that if he wants a quiet game, with stakes high or low, as he pleases—"

"High for me," interrupted Jim. "I'm not a curate playing halfpenny nap."

The Comte bowed, and his smile broadened.

"No, Mr. Maitland, as a fair judge of men, I guessed that. Well, you can take it from me that you can play as high as you like, in perfect peace and quiet, and not with this crowd round you, if you care to come with Mademoiselle St. Quentin and myself to a villa a few kilometres on the road to Nice. Every form of game you can want is there, run for people exactly like yourself—people who prefer peace and quiet. You can play bridge if you like, or poker, or baccarat, or roulette."

Jim leant across the table to me.

"Leyton," he said, "did you hear that? These guys play poker. What about it?"

He winked deliberately, and the Comte smiled again.

"There are two men there who play poker most nights and rather fancy themselves."

"The devil they do!" grunted Jim. "I'll come and play poker with them."

For a fleeting instant the Comte's eyes met the girl's, then he rose.

"My car is at the door. Will Mr. Leyton come?"

"I'm with you," I said, finishing my drink. "But I warn you that I'm not a gambler like my friend."

"All tastes are catered for, Mr. Leyton," said the girl, speaking for the first time. But I noticed she was watching Jim, as he strolled with the Comte through the rooms towards t he entrance. "Is he very wealthy, your friend?"

"Rolls in it," I murmured.

"He looks a very determined sort of person," she remarked.

"He's as peaceful as a lamb," I answered. "A married man with four children."

"I hope he wins," she said. "It's high time those two men the Comte was speaking of lost for a change."

With that we got into the car, and though I don't know about the chauffeur, there were undoubtedly four stouthearted liars that night who drove out along the road to Nice.

I had no inkling as to what Jim proposed to do; and, as he left me almost at once on arriving at the house and repaired to the poker room with the Comte, I had no opportunity of a private word with him. So I contented myself with a little mild roulette and kept my eyes open.

The whole thing was beautifully done, of that there was no doubt. The champagne was of a first-class vintage and unlimited; the furniture and the whole get-up of the house gave one the idea that everything had been done regardless of expense. There were some twenty people in the roulette room, and though play was high, I could see no suspicion of anything unfair. Nor for that matter at the baccarat table in another room, where I staked a few louis and won. In fact, it struck me that the whole place was what it professed to be—a first-class gambling-house where stakes were high and expenses were paid out of the five-per-cent. cagnotte.

My lady in the scarlet cloak, in the intervals of being very charming, pumped me discreetly over Jim, and I played up along the lines that he had started. It was quite obvious that I was regarded as the necessary encumbrance to the real quarry, and the idea was just what I wanted. Jim was rich, Jim was the gambler—Jim was the fish to be landed. And once or twice I almost laughed as I thought of the particular wolf who had strayed into the fold.

The sheep's clothing was still there two hours later when Jim appeared with the Comte. A cheerful, but somewhat inane grin was on his face, and he stumbled once—very slightly. It was a magnificent imitation of a man who had drunk just a little too much, and once again I saw the Comte's eyes meet my companion's with a hint of triumph in them.

"Cleaned me out, Leyton," cried Jim, slapping the Comte on the back. "Ten thousand francs, my boy—but that's only a bagatelle. Tomorrow afternoon we'll begin to play. Now, Comte—you'll lunch with me, and you too, Mademoiselle. I simply insist. Just the four of us, and afterwards we'll come back here. I'll show you tomorrow how poker should be played."

"You had infernal luck, Mr. Maitland," said the Comte politely. "To- morrow you will have your revenge. And lunch—at one?"

"One o'clock. I shall expect you both." He bowed over the girl's hand. "And you shall sit beside me, Mademoiselle, tomorrow afternoon and bring me luck."

The Comte insisted on sending us home in his Delage, and all the way back Jim talked loudly for the benefit of the chauffeur.

It was not until we were in our rooms that the mask dropped, and he was himself again, cool and imperturbable.

"It's crooked, Dick," he said quietly. "They swindled me tonight. I saw 'em of course—the old trick of substituting a similar pack after the cut. They dealt me a flush, and the Comte drew one to threes, and got four eights. I betted as if I hadn't noticed."

"The roulette and baccarat was perfectly straight as far as I could see," I said.

"Probably," he answered. "It's more than likely that for ninety per cent. of the time the thing is straight. It's only when they get hold of a plum that they risk the other. And mark you, it was well done. If I hadn't forgotten more about that sort of stunt than these fellows are ever likely to know, I wouldn't have noticed it."

He was pacing up and down the room thoughtfully, pulling hard at his pipe.

"I can't think what to do, Dick," he cried at length. "Gunwork is out of the question, and the mere statement that someone is cheating, even if you prove it then and there on the spot, is no use when you're up against a gang of hem. Righteous indignation: the man would be ostensibly kicked out; one's losses would be refunded. Mark you, it wasn't the Comte who cheated; he wasn't dealing. But the new pack was stacked so that he got the hand. They were all in it—all four of them. I can smell a thing like that better than a cat smells valerian. And it's going to be the same bunch tomorrow. The point is what to do."

He resumed his thoughtful pacing.

"Bluff! Some sort of bluff! But what? How can I bluff that bunch—how can I bluff the Comte into disgorging those bonds?"

And then suddenly he stopped short in his tracks, his eyes blazing.

"I've got it," he almost shouted. "I've got the main idea. Go away, Dick—go to bed. I've got to work out the details."

With that he bundled me unceremoniously out of the room, and when I turned out my light I could still hear him pacing up and down next door. But when I went into his room next morning about half-past ten he had already gone out, and I didn't see him again until he came into the American bar twenty minutes before lunch.

He grinned at me and we sat down in a corner. "Got it worked out?" I asked.

"I think so, old man," he answered with a faint chuckle. "And it's best for you to know nothing about it until the time comes. But there's one thing you can do for me, with your well-known tact and discretion. If you get an opportunity, let it be known by Mademoiselle that though in normal circumstances I have the disposition necessary to run a babies' creche, at the same time if I happen to get roused things happen. Hint, old son, at dark doings in strange corners of the globe: corpses littering up rooms—you know."

"Is this part of the plan?" I asked.

"A very necessary part," he answered quietly. "And here, if I mistake not, are our guests."

We met them in the lounge—the Comte suave and debonair, the lady looking even prettier by day than by night—and adjourned at once in to lunch. It was a merry meal, during which Jim accounted for far more than his fair share of the bottle of Veuve Cliquot. I noticed that the Comte drank sparingly, and his companion hardly at all. And they didn't talk very much either; Jim monopolised most of the conversation.

And since of all men in the world Jim talks less about himself than anyone I know, it soon became evident to me that there was some specific object in his mind. He was almost vulgar with his: "I've been there, of course,"—and "I've seen that and done this." But because he had been, and seen, and done, he was also extraordinarily interesting. Especially when he launched at length on to the question of snakes and rare native poisons. He might almost have made a study of them, so extensive was his knowledge, and Mademoiselle St. Quentin shivered audibly.

"You make me quite frightened, Monsieur," she said, taking a sip of champagne. "Just one teeny scratch, you say, and a horrible death. Ugh!"

Jim laughed, and ordered another bottle.

"Such things don't come your way in civilised parts, Mademoiselle," he cried. "It's only we who have lived at the back of beyond who run across them."

"You must have had an interesting life, Mr. Maitland," said the Comte. "A life which many men would not have come through alive."

Jim laughed again.

"Because they don't know the secret of life, Comte."

"And that is?"

"Bluff." Jim drained his glass. "Bluff. Any man can win when he's holding winners, but success only comes to the man who wins with losers. And in life—as in poker—it's bluff that enables you to do that."

The Comte smiled.

"Mon Dieu! Yvonne, we have a formidable opponent this afternoon. I think I had better go to the bank and get some more money."

And so in due course we came once more to the house set so charmingly on the high ground looking over the sea.

Without delay they went indoors, while I followed slowly. As a piece of acting it was superb; almost did he deceive me during the next hour. Not by the quiver of an eyelid did he deviate from the character he had set himself to play—the bluff Colonial with money to lose if necessary, but with money only secondary to the game. I played more as a matter of form than anything else; my whole attention was occupied in what I knew must be coming. And gradually excitement took hold of me till my hand grew a little unsteady and my mouth a trifle dry. If only I had known what to look out for—what to expect!

And then quite suddenly it came. I had noticed nothing, but in an instant the atmosphere of the room changed from quiet suavity to deadly fury. And dominating them all—more furious than any—was Jim.

With a single heave he jerked the dealer from his chair, and there on the seat was the pack of cards for which the stacked pack had just been substituted.

"The same trick as last night, you bunch of sharpers!" he snarled. "Do you think I didn't spot you?" He swung round on the Comte, who, with a livid face, was backing towards the bell. "Stand still, you swine!" he roared, and he seemed to be lashing himself into a worse rage. "I'll show you how I deal with sharpers. You wretched fool—I came prepared for this!"

There was a sudden sharp whistling hiss and a long thornlike piece of wood hung quivering from the Comte's cheek.

"Put away that gun," he sneered contemptuously, as the Comte produced a revolver. "Don't you understand, you wretched cheat—you're a dead man now. Is it beginning to prick and smart, that cheek of yours? I told you I came from the East, didn't I? And do you know what this is?"

He held out a long wooden tube, and the Comte stared at it fearfully.

"That is the sumpitan, or blow-pipe," roared Jim, "used by the Senangs in Malay. And that "—he pointed at the Comte's cheek—"is a poisoned dart." He laughed contemptuously. "You scum—to dare to swindle me, as you swindled that unfortunate boy out of those Egyptian bonds." He plunged his hand into his pocket and produced a small bottle. "There is the antidote, my friend—don't move, or I smash it in the grate. It will add to my pleasure to see you die, watching the bottle that could save you all the time."

And now pandemonium broke loose. Two men dashed to the door, to find themselves looking down the barrel of Jim's revolver.

"I think not," he said pleasantly. "It will only be a quarter of an hour before our friend leaves us—for good. During that brief space we will all stop here."

And then the girl flung herself at me.

"Do something!" she screamed. "He is a savage—a monster! Beg him to save Pierre; he is my husband." But Jim only laughed.

"Mon Dieu! Monsieur," she cried, going down on her knees to him, "I entreat of you to spare him. I love him—you understand; I love him!"

Jim grunted, and lowered his revolver as if in thought.

"He is your husband, is he? Well, get me those Egyptian bonds at once. Is it smarting, Comte? Then you have no time to lose, Madame. Hand me those bonds, and I will consider whether I will save this man."

He stood aside and she rushed from the room like a woman distraught. The Comte was moaning in a corner with the two other men bending over him, and Jim caught my eye and winked. And so superb had been his acting, that it was only then, for the first time, that I began to wonder about the sumpitan and the poisoned dart. It occurred to me that it had looked much more like an ordinary long wooden cigarette holder.

But at that moment the girl returned. Feverishly she thrust the bonds into his hands, and with maddening deliberation Jim looked through them while she waited in an agony of impatience. At last he thrust them into his pocket, and produced the little bottle.

"Let this be a lesson to you," he snapped. "There is the antidote. See that he drinks it all—at once."

We waited just long enough to see the contents of that bottle go down the Comte's throat; then, on a quick sign from him, we left.

And finding the Delage waiting outside the door, it seemed but fitting that we should use it to take us back to Monte Carlo. We did.

* * * * *

It was not till much later on that he consented to allay my curiosity. At intervals through the afternoon he had shaken with silent laughter until he had almost driven me insane.

I knew there had been an interview with Jack, and the girl had been there too; a girl who had left with eyes misty with joy and happiness, and a boy who had left almost dazed by his good fortune.

The girl came up to me as I sat reading the paper, and I rose with a smile.

"He's just the most wonderful man in the world, Mr. Leyton," she said, and her voice trembled a little.

"He is that," agreed Jack fervently.

And with that they were gone, and I sat on waiting for Jim.

He came at last, a quiet smile on his face, and we decided it was cocktail time.

"A good bluff that, Dick," he said thoughtfully.

"Darned good!" I agreed. "What had you got on the darts?"

"Some stuff the chemist made up. Quite harmless, but irritates abominably."

And then he started to choke with laughter.

"What's the jest?" I demanded.

"My dear old man," he spluttered, "you haven't got the plum— the supreme gem of the affair. That lies in the antidote."

I looked at him. "What the deuce was the antidote?"

"It came to me in the chemist's shop this morning," he murmured gravely. "All great ideas come suddenly like that. The antidote, Dick, was just half a pint of castor-oil."