“Well, I suppose that you know all about the business, that you’ve been fishing in troubled waters, and that Aurelie slips away with you, while Bregeac fights it out with Marescal. Resignation without a doubt—probably arrest as well.” “Bregeac has just killed himself,” said Ralph. Jodot started: “What?” he said sharply. “Bregeac? Bregeac dead!” Ralph gazed at them curiously for a moment; then he said: “Listen to me, both of you. I’ve forbidden you to meddle with this business. You, Jodot, murdered Etienne d’Asteux, you murdered Miss Bakersfield and were the cause of the death of the brothers Loubeaux, your friends, associates and confederates. Am I to hand you over to Marescal? And you, William, you’d better know that your mother has sold me all her secrets for a big sum, and on condition that you were left alone. That promise covers the past. But, if you start afresh, it does not hold any longer. Am I to break your other arm and hand you over to Marescal?” William, panic-stricken, was ready to give in. But Jodot held out. “In a word, you’re to have the treasure,” he growled. “Nothing could be plainer.” Ralph shrugged his shoulders and said: “You believe then in that treasure, do you?” “I believe in it as you do,” growled Jodot. “I’ve been working on it for nearly twenty years; and I’m going to get away with it in spite of all your maneuvers.” “Get away with it! You’ve got to find out first of all where it is and what it is,” said Ralph sharply. “I know nothing and neither do you, no more than Bregeac. But the girl knows. And that’s why——” “Would you like to go shares in it,” said Ralph laughing. “It isn’t worth while. I shall manage to get my share of it, on my own, and a good share too. And all the worse for those who get in my way! I’ve more trumps in my hand than you think. Good evening. You’ve had your warning,” growled Jodot. Ralph watched them walk away. The incident annoyed him. What the devil was this ill-omened bird of prey up to? “Rubbish!” he murmured. “If he wishes to run after the car for two hundred and fifty miles, I shall be delighted to act as pace-maker.” The next day, at noon, Aurelie awoke in an airy room from which she saw, across gardens and meadows, the somber and majestic cathedral of Clermont-Ferrand. An old boarding-house, situated on a hill, and transformed into a sanatorium, afforded her a most discreet retreat and one well fitted to re-establish definitely her health. There she passed peaceful weeks, speaking to no one but Ralph’s old nurse, walking in the park, dreaming for hours at a time, her eyes fixed on the town or on the mountains of the Puy-de-Dome of which the hills of Royat form the first strongholds.