Merrihew handled his keys clumsily. The first key on the ring should have been the last, and the last first. It is ever thus when one is in a hurry. Finally he threw back the lids, feeling that in another moment he must have spouted Italian or French out of pure magic, simply to tell this fool inspector what he thought of him. "Oho! Monsieur-in-a-hurry!" mocked the inspector. "Nothing, nothing!" He took out the two boxes of cigars. "Why the devil didn't you tell me you had them?" Hillard demanded wrathfully. To find the women by this stroke of luck, and then to lose them again for two boxes of cigars! It was maddening! As a matter of fact, Merrihew had forgotten all about them, so far as intentional wrong-doing was concerned. The inspector went through Merrihew's possessions with premeditated leisure. Everything had to come out. He even opened the shaving sets, the collar box, the pin cases, and the tie bag. Other persons pushed by toward the train, uttering their relief aloud. Still the inspector doddered on. "Will you hasten?" asked Hillard. "We do not wish to miss this train." "Others follow," said the inspector laconically. Hillard produced a five-franc piece. The inspector laughed without noise and shook his head. This one inspector is impervious to money or smooth speeches. He is the law personified, inexorable. "Tell him to keep the cigars, but let us go!" Merrihew begged. No, that would not do. Monsieur had not declared the cigars. If he persisted, the government would confiscate the cigars, but in place of duty there would be a large fine. Monsieur had better be patient and pay the duty only, retaining his valuable cigars. It was very liberal on his (the inspector's) part. Hillard strained his eyes, but saw neither Kitty nor the veiled lady again. Doubtless they were already on the train. Had Merrihew been an old traveler he would have left him to get to Monte Carlo the best way he could; but Merrihew was as helpless as a child, and he hadn't the heart to desert him, though he deserved to be deserted. Ding-ding! went the bell. Toot-toot! went the horn. Whee-whee! went the whistle. The train for Monte Carlo was drawing out, and they were being left behind. Hillard swore and Merrihew went white with impotent anger. If only he could hit something! The inspector smiled and went on with his deadly work. When he was certain that they could not possibly catch the train, he chalked the cases, handed the cigars to their owner, and pointed to a sign the other side of the barricade. "What shall I do now, Jack?" Merrihew asked. "I refuse to help you. Find out yourself." So Merrihew, hopeless and subdued, went into the room designated, saw the cigars taken out and weighed, took the bill and presented it with a hundred-lire note at the little window in the off-room. The official there pushed the money back indifferently. "_Francaise, Monsieur, francaise!_" Merrihew blinked at him. What _was_ the matter now? Was the note bad?