"Enough of this chatter. I've got to die some time; it will be with my face toward this man I hate with all my soul. You trust to me; I'll pull out of this all right. You just fix yourself up stunningly for the opera to-night and leave the rest to me." Olga shrugged. She was something of a fatalist. This man of hers had suddenly gone mad; and one did not reason with mad people. "What shall I wear?" she asked calmly. [Illustration: "JUST A MOMENT, GENTLEMEN"] "Emeralds; they're your good luck stones. You will go to the box before I do. I've got to spend some time at the curb to be sure that this Servan chap arrives. And it is quite possible that our friend Jones will come later. If not Jones, then Norton. I was a fool not to shoot him when I had the chance. We could have covered it up without the least difficulty. But I needed the information about that paper. With Norton going to Washington and Jones conferring with this Servan, I've got to strike quick. It concerns us, that I'm certain. Perk up; we've lots of cards in our sleeves yet. Be at the opera at eight-thirty. Pay no attention to any one; wait for me. Remember, I shan't write or send any phone messages. Be wary of any trap like that to get you outside. Now, I'm off." Jones approached Florence immediately after dinner. "I have important business in the city to-night. Under no circumstances leave the house. I shall probably be followed. And our enemies will have need of you far more to-night than at any previous time. I shall not send you phone or written message. You have your revolver. Shoot any strange man who enters. We'll make inquiries after." "We are near the end?" whispered Florence. "Very near the end." "And I shall see my father?" Jones bent his head. "If we succeed." "There is danger?" thinking of her lover. "There is always danger when I leave this house. So be good," the butler added with a smile. "And Jim?" "He has proved that he can take care of himself." "Tell him to be very careful." "I'll do so, but it will not be necessary;" and with this Jones set forth upon what he considered the culminating adventure. The usual brilliant crowd began to pour into the opera. Braine took his stand by the entrance. He waited a long time, but his patience was rewarded. A limousine drove up and out of the door came his man, who looked about with casual interest. He dismissed the limousine, which wheeled slowly around the corner where it could be conveniently parked. Then Servan entered the opera. Braine hurried around to the limousine. The lights, save those demanded by traffic regulations, were out. The chauffeur was huddled in his seat. "My man," said Braine, "would you like to make some money?" "How much?" listlessly. The voice was muffled. "Twenty." "Good night, sir." "Fifty." "Good night and good morning!" "A hundred!" "Now you've got me interested. What kind of a joy ride do you want?" "No joy ride. Listen."