"And my dear wife is actually the daughter of the previous leader of that criminal band!" I exclaimed apprehensively. "Yes. She escaped with him because she was in fear of her life--because she knew that if she were again beneath her own father's protection, you--the man she loved--would also be safe from injury. For Phil Poland is a strong man, a perfect past-master of the criminal arts, and a leader whose word was the command of every member of that great international organization, the wide ramifications of which I have so long tried in vain to ascertain." "Then Poland is a noteworthy man in the world of crime?" "He is a very prince of thieves. Yet, at the same time, one must regard him with some admiration for his daring and audacity, his wonderful resourcefulness and his strict adhesion to fair play. For years he lived in France, Italy and Spain, constantly changing his place of abode, his identity, his very face, and always evading us; yet nobody has ever said that he did a mean action towards a poor man. He certainly suffered an unjust punishment by that false accusation made against him by the man who was apparently jealous of his leadership, and who desired to become his successor." "Then you are of opinion that my wife left me in order to secure my protection from harm?" "I am quite certain of it. You recollect my meeting with her at the Hotel Meurice in Paris. She told me several things on that occasion." "And Pennington very nearly fell into your hands." "Yes, but with his usual cleverness he escaped me." "Where is he now? Have you any idea?" I asked. "I have no exact knowledge, but, with the arrest of four of his accomplices, it will not be difficult to find out where he is in hiding," he laughed. "And the same may be said of Poland--eh?"