"_Sacré nom!_" he growled through his clenched teeth. "So would you, if you had been fighting for your life! The pigs of police are after me. Give me a drink and take me down through the cellar. The boat goes back to-night, doesn't it?" "It does," said Margot. "Here's your drink--and drink to Jules there for he caught the turkey gobbler. Cleek the Rat's man--Narkom!" "Nonsense--impossible!" cried Merode with an oath. "But not so, my friend, you shall see him," cried half a dozen voices. "See him? I'll mark him for life, the devil. Someone go for the vitriol--here!" With dirty, scratched, and bloodstained hands, Merode threw a coin to one of the Apaches who vanished in the blue fumes of smoke and wine, while Merode slouched deeper into the shadows as there came the sound of a gendarme's clattering sword on the cobbles outside. "_Mon dieu_, Margot, I mustn't be caught." Margot gave orders swiftly. "Down with him, Jeannette, into the vaults, while I hold the fort." Jeannette clutched Merode's arm. "Come, _mon ami_, through here! You know the way!" Stumbling, cursing, praying all in one breath, Merode followed down the rickety wooden ladder, down, it seemed, into the very bowels of the earth. Thrusting open another door, Jeannette grumblingly lighted a torch stuck in the woodwork, and as Merode's eyes fell upon the figure of Mr. Narkom an oath of triumph burst from his lips. "_Dieu_, but Margot spoke the truth. It's the pig himself. I've half a mind to take him with me and make him dance with a hot iron or two! Better than vitriol----" He gave vent to a hoarse, chuckling laugh, at the sound of which the Superintendent shivered, even though the confined space was close enough on the hot summer's night. "Margot will never stand that," said Jeannette. "She means to keep him here till Cleek the Rat comes----" "Margot! _Nom du pipe!_ If she is Queen, I am King. Leave him to me and give me the key of the door." Jeannette wheeled suddenly on him. "What key--what door?" she asked. Then without waiting for an answer she snatched the torch from the wall and thrust it in Merode's face. He drew back from her piercing gaze. "_Hola!_" she cried in triumph. "I was right--it is not Merode!" For Merode knew of the trap-door. And as the man followed her glance toward it he realized his mistake. "And you, who are you?" she cried. As the man shrank back she advanced, and with a swift gesture plucked at the matted hair. It came away in her hand, and her own cry of triumph as it revealed the smooth head beneath drowned the Superintendent's cry of "Cleek!" even as he realized the double peril of himself and the man whose friendship was dearer to him even than life itself. "Aha, I know you now," cried Jeannette. "The great Cleek himself! And it is I who have got you--_moi_--whom she laughed at."