"I hope Hague is all right," growled Rohscheimer. "He's got some good rough stuff on him to-night. Brought it over to show me. I didn't like that red line under his name. Looked as if he was sort of number one on the list!" "That's how it struck me. By the way, what became of the card?" "Don't know," was the reply. "Push that bell. I want a whisky and soda." Jesson pressed the bell, and Rohscheimer, tossing the stump into the grate, dipped two fat fingers into his waistcoat pocket in quest of a new cigar. It was his custom to carry two or three stuck therein. "Hallo!" Jesson turned to him--and saw that he held a card in his hand. "Have you got the card?" "Yes," said Rohscheimer, and turned it over. Whereupon his face changed colour, and became an unclean grey. "What's the matter?" cried Jesson. His hand shaking slightly, Rohscheimer passed him the card. Jesson peered at it anxiously. The message which it bore was the same as that borne by the mysterious card which had caused such a panic at the dinner table, but, upon the other side, only one name appeared. It was that of Julius Rohscheimer, and it was heavily underlined in red! CHAPTER VII THE RING As the cab containing Baron Hague drove off along Park Lane, the Baron heaved a sigh of relief. This incomprehensible Severac Bablon who had descended like a simoon upon London was a perturbing presence--a breath of hot fear that parched the mind! And the house in Park Lane, too, recently had been made the scene of a unique outrage by this most singular robber to afford any sense of security. The Baron was glad to be away from that house, and, as the cab turned the corner by the Park, was glad to be away from Park Lane. A man with several thousand pounds' worth of diamonds upon him may be excused a certain nervousness. Baron Hague was not intimately acquainted with London; but it seemed to him, now, that the taxi-driver was pursuing an unfamiliar route. Had he made some error? Perhaps that fool Adeler had directed him wrongly. The Baron took up the speaking-tube. "Hi!" he called. "Hi, you! Is it the Hotel Astoria you take me?" No notice did the man vouchsafe; looking neither to right nor to left, but driving straight ahead. Baron Hague snorted with anger. Again he raised the tube. A cloud of something seemed to strike him in the face. He dropped the tube, and reached out towards a window. Vaguely he wondered to find it immovable. The lights of the thoroughfare--the sound of the traffic, were fading away, farther, farther, to a remote distance. He clutched at the cushions--slipping--slipping----