"I did; Mr. Hargreave. There was a scar on the lobe of your ear; and secretly I often wondered at the likeness between you and the real Jones. When I caught a glimpse of that ear, then I knew what the game was. And I'll add that you played it amazingly well. The one flaw in Braine's campaign was his hurry. He started the ball rolling before getting all the phases clearly established in his mind. He was a brave man, anyhow; and more than once he had me where I believed that prayers only were necessary." "And do you think that you can lead Florence to the million?" asked Hargreave, smiling. "For one thing, it is in her room, and has always been there. It never was in the chest." "Not bad, not bad," mused the father. "But perhaps after all it will be better if you show it to her yourself." "Just a little uncertain?" jibed the millionaire. "Absolutely certain. I will whisper in your ear where it is hidden." Norton leaned forward as Hargreave bent attentively. "You've hit it! But how in the world did you guess it?" "Because it was the last place any one would look for it. I judged at the start that you'd hide it in just such a spot, in some place where you could always guard it, and lay your hands on it quickly if needs said must." "I'm mighty glad you were on my side," said Hargreave. "In a few minutes we'll go up and take a look at those packets of bills. There's a very unhappy young woman there at present." "It is in my room?" cried Florence. Hargreave nodded. Meantime the Countess Olga hovered between two courses: a brave attempt to escape by the window or to turn the revolver against her heart. In either case there was nothing left in life for her. The man she loved was dead below, killed by her hand. She felt as though she was treading air in some fantastical nightmare. She could not go forward or backward, and her heels were always within reach of her pursuers. So this was the end of things? The dreams she had had of going away with Braine to other climes, the happiness she had pictured, all mere chimeras! A sudden rage swept over her. She would escape, she would continue to play the game to the end. She would show them that she had been the man's mate, not his pliant tool. She raised the window and stepped out onto the balcony .... into the hands of the policeman who had patiently been waiting for her to do so! Instantly she placed the revolver at her temple. A quick clutch, and the policeman had her by the wrist. She made one tigerish effort to free herself, shrugged, and signified that she surrendered. "I don't want to hurt you, Miss," said the policeman; "but if you make any attempt to escape, I'll have to put the handcuffs on you." "I'll go quietly. What are you going to do with me?" "Turn you over to the Russian agent. He has extradition papers; and I guess it's Siberia." [Illustration: "FLORENCE, THAT IS ALL YOURS"]