The original plan of tossing out the sixty thousand pounds' worth of bonds to Tracy, who was waiting with his three warning lights, failed because of old Blumenfeld's sleeplessness, but it was substituted by a far more secretive yet simple plan--one never even dreamed of by the astute police attached to the Paris, Lyons and Mediterranean Railway. It being daylight at Lyons, the blinds were up! CHAPTER VII LITTLE LADY LYDBROOK From the very first I felt that, owing to my passionate love for Lola, I was treading upon very thin ice. As the cat's-paw of her father I was being drawn into such subtle devilish schemes that I felt to draw back must only bring upon my head the vengeance, through fear, of a man who was so entirely unscrupulous and so elusive that the police could never trace him. Why a few weeks later I had been sent to Biarritz with Vincent was an enigma I failed to solve. At any rate, at Rayne's suggestion, we had gone there and had stayed under assumed names at the Hotel du Palais, that handsome place standing high upon the rocks with such charming views of the rocky headland of St. Martin and the dozen grey-green islets. We both lived expensively and enjoyed ourselves at the Casino and elsewhere, but the object of our visit was quite obscure. I knew, however, that Duperre was prospecting new ground, but in what direction I failed to discover. One day we returned to London quite suddenly, but he refused to disclose anything concerning the object of our visit, which, after all, had been for me quite an enjoyable holiday. About a week after our return Rayne called me into the morning-room. The keen grey-eyed middle-aged man was smoking a cigar and with him was Madame, whose cleverness as a crook was only equalled by that of her husband. "Well, Hargreave!" exclaimed Rayne. "I hope you had a nice time at Biarritz, eh? Well, I want you to go on a further little holiday down to Eastbourne. Drive the Rolls down to the Grand Hotel there and stay as a gentleman of leisure." "I'm always that nowadays," I laughed. "Stay there under the name of George Cottingham," he went on, "and spend rather freely, so as to give yourself a good appearance. You understand?" "No, I don't understand," I said. "At least, I don't understand what game is to be played." "You needn't, George," was his short reply. "You are paid not to understand, and to keep your mouth shut. So please recollect that. Now at the hotel," he went on, "there is staying Lady Lydbrook, wife of the great Sheffield ironmaster. I want you to scrape up acquaintance with her." "Why?" I asked.