"I have 'lairs,' as you term them, in half the cities of France, Monsieur le Comte," she answered with a vicious little note of resentment in her voice. "And I do not work for nothing--no, not I! I paid for my adherence to his Majesty's Prime Minister and I intend to be paid for my services to his Majesty's self, even though I have this once failed. It must be settled, that question, at once and for all--now--to-night." "I guessed it would be like that," he answered, with a jerk of his shoulders. "Where shall it be, then? Speak quickly. They are making the landing and I must not be seen talking with you after we go ashore. Where, then?" "At the Inn of the Seven Sinners--on the Quai d'Lorme--a gunshot distant. Any cocher will take you there." "Is it safe?" "All my 'lairs' are safe, monsieur. It overhangs the water. And if strangers come, there is a trap with a bolt on the under side. One way: to the town and the sewers and forty other inns. The other: to a motor boat, always in readiness for instant use. You could choose for yourself should occasion come. You will not find the place shut--my 'lairs' never are. A password? No, there is none--for any but the Brotherhood. Nor will you need one. You remember old Marise of the 'Twisted Arm' in Paris? Well, she serves at the Seven Sinners now. I have promoted Madame Serpice to the 'Twisted Arm'. She will know you, will Marise. Say to her I am coming shortly. She and her mates will raise the roof with joy, and--la! la! The gangway is out. They are calling all ashore. Look for me and my lads close on your heels when you arrive. Au revoir." "Au revoir," he repeated, and slipping by went below and made his way ashore. She waited that he might get well on his way--that none might by any possibility associate them--then turning, went down after him and out to the pier, where her crew were already forgathering; and when or how she passed the word to them that it was not Paris to-night but the Inn of the Seven Sinners, neither Narkom nor Dollops could decide, close as they came on after her, for she seemed to speak to no one. "No Inn of the Seven Sinners for you to-night, my lady, if my friend M. Ducroix has attended to that wireless message properly," muttered Narkom as he followed her. "Look sharp, Dollops, and if you see a Sergeant de Ville let me know. They've no luggage, that lot, and, besides, they are natives, so they will pass the customs in a jiffy. Hullo! there goes that pedler chap--and without his fez or his draperies, b'gad! Through the customs like a flash, the bounder! And there go the others, too. And she after them--she, by James! God! Where are Ducroix and his men? Why aren't they here?"--looking vainly about for some sign of the Chief of Police. "I can't do anything without _him_--here, on foreign soil. Why in heaven's name doesn't the man come?"