It was to the effect that Superintendent Arthur Benton, the well-known Scotland Yard officer, had, after the annual dinner a few nights before, been suddenly taken ill on his way home to Hampstead, and was at the moment lying in a very critical condition suffering from some mysterious form of ptomaine poisoning, his life being despaired of. I was quite unaware until long afterwards of the deeply laid attempt upon Benton's life, how the mysterious Dutchman was really a waiter much wanted by the French police for a poisoning affair in Marseilles, and that he had been able, by means best known to Rayne, to obtain temporary employment at the Elgin Rooms on the night of the banquet. It was he who had served the table at which had sat the unsuspicious detective superintendent. The latter fortunately did not succumb, but he was incapacitated from duty for over twelve months, during which period the inquiries regarding the unknown head of the criminal band were dropped, much to the relief of Rayne and Duperre. All this, however, was, I saw, preliminary and in preparation for some great _coup_. I suppose I had been kicking my heels about Folkestone for perhaps ten days when, without warning, Rayne and Lola arrived with Tracy and a quantity of luggage. No doubt the mysterious Dutchman had returned to the Continent by the fishing-boat in which he had come over to act at Rayne's orders. "We are going to the Continent by the morning service the day after to-morrow, George," Rayne told me. "Tracy leaves to-night. Lola will go with us as far as Paris, where Duperre will meet us, and we go south together." And he produced a batch of tickets, among which I saw coupons for reserved compartments in the _wagon-lit_. Afterwards he gave some peculiar instructions to Tracy. "You'll recollect the map I showed you," he said. "Creches is two miles south of Macon. At about two kilometres towards Lyons there is a short bridge over a ravine. That's the spot. The train passes there at three-eighteen in the morning." "I follow you exactly," replied his stout, bald-headed accomplice. And I was left wondering what was intended. That evening Tracy left us and crossed to Boulogne, while two days later we went on board the morning cross-Channel steamer, where, to my surprise, we met Mr. and Mrs. Blumenfeld. The encounter was a most unexpected and pleasant one. The great financier and his wife were on their way to the Riviera, and we were going as far as Cannes. "I had no idea that you were going south!" laughed Rayne happily as Lola, warmly dressed in furs, stood on deck chatting with Mrs. Blumenfeld and watching the boat casting off from the quay. "It will be most delightful to travel together," he went on. "Lola stays in Paris and we go on to the Riviera. I suppose you've got your sleeping berths from Paris to-night?"