For a moment Westerham stared into the dying woman's face, under the impression that her reason had departed from her. But with a start he remembered how he had awoke in St. John's Wood, after being drugged, to find himself dressed in strange clothes and in new footgear. And for the first time the real significance of the removal of all his apparel from his rooms in Bruton Street struck him with full force. He remembered, too, that from the night he had left Mme. Estelle, Melun, by one swift action after another, had kept him constantly on the move, so that it had been impossible for him so much as to order fresh clothes. To the astonishment of Lord Penshurst and Kathleen, and to the wonderment of Lowther and Mendip, Westerham propped Mme. Estelle up against the pillows and began rapidly to remove his boots. Comfortable though they had been, it had always struck him that they were unnaturally deep between the outer and the inner sole. The meaning of that came clearly home to him now. No sooner had he pulled off his boots than he took a knife and began to rip feverishly at the heels. He succeeded in detaching them, and was then able easily to rip open the soles. He was now fully prepared for any turn of events, but he could not repress an exclamation, as in tearing away the upper layers of leather, his eyes fell on a dozen neatly-folded sheets of tissue paper. He drew them out, and with a cry Lord Penshurst snatched them from his hand. Westerham saw at a glance that the Premier had regained the papers he had lost—the papers which had jeopardised, not only the peace of nations, but his own and his daughter's honour. Westerham seized the other boot, but Mme. Estelle shook her head. “Look afterwards,” she gasped, “not now.” Westerham held the whisky to her lips again, and again she rallied slightly. “The papers,” she said faintly, “were deposited at the poste-restante, St. Martin's-le-Grand, in my name. But Melun really thought you had discovered where they were and took them away. There was not a single place in which we could hope to hide them safely. It was I who thought of your boots. “I did it,” she said, with a wan little smile at Westerham, “partly to save you. I knew that so long as you were safe the papers were safe. “Melun was so certain that he would win,” she went on wearily, “I don't think he really thought of doing you any injury. It struck him that it would be an immense joke after he had got his way to tell Lord Penshurst that the man who was trying to find the papers had them in his possession all the time. I think sometimes he was mad.” Madame paused, and her eyes contracted as though with pain. “Forgive!” she gasped. Then her eyes became fixed and staring. It was Westerham who drew the dead woman's eyelids down. * * * * *