“I don’t intend to interfere. He shall do as he likes. But I cannot take no interest in these preparations, nor will I, like young Baradier, be chivalrous with bandits. This is my plan: The rendezvous is for ten o’clock. You know the situation of the Boulevard Maillot; there is a ditch separating it from the Bois de Boulogne. A splendid hiding-place to hide a posse of police entering by the wood. I know a detective officer who is as intelligent as he is determined. I shall give him instructions to post himself there, and keep watch. In case M. Baradier is right, and there is nothing to fear, my men will simply have passed a night in the open-air. If he is mistaken then the danger will be a real one. You heard him say that he would be armed and ready to defend himself. At the first cry or shot my men will invade the house. If they are threatened they resist, if they are struck they will fire. Whether diplomacy wishes or not, if the villains are caught in the act the matter must take its course.” “Whatever happens, do not let young Baradier be killed, and above all try to lay hands on the woman.” “What do you think of the plan, General?” The old soldier looked at the magistrate, then at Vallenot. He noticed the impassive countenance of the latter, and replied— “You need not ask for my advice. All these judicial operations are out of my province. Act as you think best; I have nothing to say.” The magistrate shook his head, with a mocking smile; then, taking up his hat, he said— “Ah, I know what you mean! So long as the affair is not over, no one wishes to have anything to do with it. If it succeeds, then I shall be the only one to be left out of it all. But that matters little. It is my duty, and I will not hesitate. Your servant, General.” And he left the room accompanied by Colonel Vallenot. CHAPTER V IT was about half-past nine, and Uncle Graff had dined in the Rue de Provènce as usual. Baudoin approached him, and whispered in his ear— “Two ladies have called, and one of them wishes to speak to M. Marcel.” “What kind of a woman is she?” asked the uncle. “A very respectable-looking person, sir. The other must be a governess or a lady’s maid.” “Where are they?” “In the ante-chamber.” “Turn on the electricity in my room, and show them in.” Baudoin did as he was ordered. Uncle Graff continued his descent, murmuring to himself— “Another of Marcel’s escapades! I wonder what it is this time.” On approaching his room he saw, standing by the door, a young lady dressed in black, and wearing a veil. Uncle Graff’s first impression was a favourable one. Pointing to a seat, he said kindly— “My nephew, madame, is not at home. Cannot I—” He was not allowed to finish the sentence. The young lady said in beseeching tones— “Monsieur, it is a question of life or death.” “For whom?” asked Uncle Graff, anxiously. “For your nephew!” “How have you been informed of this? And who are you?” The visitor replied immediately—