lawrence stretched out his hand for a cigarette as if he had said the most natural thing in the world. a less clever man would have shown something like triumph. but lawrence had thought this all out as carefully as if it were really a new melodrama he was writing. the time had come when matters must be forced into the channel to suit himself. already he had laid the lines carefully.

this woman must be made to own that the missing notes had really come from her, or at least part of them. once this was done, the novelist felt pretty sure of his game. but though he wanted to startle and alarm his companion, he didn't desire to expose his suspicions too far.

"a very singular circumstance, is it not?" he asked, quietly.

leona lalage had recovered herself; she did not know that lawrence had been purposely busy over his cigarette to give her an opportunity of so doing.

"really, i ought to be indignant," she cried.

"surely not," lawrence murmured quietly. "i have made no accusations. in taking up the matter on behalf of gordon bruce, i have to make searching inquiries. i naturally ask myself where are the rest of those notes. by a strange fate they turn up here. isidore identifies the numbers and i identify the scent. i am more or less able to prove that it was you who produced those notes the night of the card party. you went to your room to get some cash which you changed into gold. therefore the notes were in your possession."

"but i'll swear to you," the countess broke in vehemently. "i'll swear----"

"my dear friend, there is no occasion to do anything of the kind. am i making any kind of accusation against you? ridiculous! why, black as things look against my friend bruce, i don't suspect him. all i want you to do is to try and recollect whence you got those notes."

leona lalage kept her face half hidden behind her fan. for the life of her she could not tell whether this man was playing with her or not hitherto men had been her puppets, hitherto she had regarded all of them as fools. lawrence smoked calmly on, as if he were discussing the weather or something equally exciting.

"i'll try," she said, "but then i handle so much money. i play cards, i bet on horses. there are scores of ways. but i'll try."

lawrence rose and took his leave. he dropped in at the nearest telephone call office and late as it was rang up isidore. the latter was waiting.

"it's all right," he said. "i have had balmayne here as you suggested. and i have told him exactly as much as you desired him to know. he's just gone off in a great hurry, for any money to lytton avenue."

as a matter of fact, balmayne's cab passed lawrence a minute or two later. the latter smiled as if well pleased with himself.

"splendid so far," he murmured. "she'll walk into the trap, in fact they both will. and now i think i have really earned a good night's rest."

leona lalage was raging up and down the room as balmayne entered. the first saffron streaks of dawn were making the electrics thin and yellow. evidently something had gone wrong. balmayne waited for his companion to speak.

"i came here with pretty bad news," he said, after a pause. "i went off with isidore to talk business, and he let out something that absolutely startled me."

"it can't be as bad as my news," leona said, gloomily. "they have traced the rest of the missing notes directly to my possession."

"what!" balmayne cried, "were you mad enough to----."

"i am afraid so. it is no time for idle recrimination. the gambling fever was on me the other night and i felt that i must play. i tried to borrow money that evening, but not one of the wretches would trust me with a shilling. i had those notes upstairs; they formed my rescue in case of a collapse. it seemed to me that nobody would be any the wiser. i brought them down, and gambled with them. and beyond all doubt, gilbert lawrence has traced them to me."

"will you be so good as to tell me how?" balmayne said.

in a few words the story was told. balmayne listened moodily. with his further knowledge of facts he saw the danger.

"this is dreadful," he said. "the man who died in the corner house changed four hundred sovereigns into notes. part of them he put into a letter to send to a certain person who appears to have been nameless. we know that he was going to send that money to his brother."

"of course. but, thank goodness, we are the only people who know that."

"exactly where you are mistaken," said balmayne, bitterly. "they all know it. isidore let it out tonight. the fellow prout, who has the corner house case in hand, by a piece of amazing luck has arrested a criminal on another charge. in that criminal's possession were certain letters addressed to him by the--by leona lalage, in fact. in other words the police have discovered the dead man's brother rené!"

the countess paused in her agitated walk. she had been striding up and down the room impatiently. she paused now with her hand to her head as if somebody had shot her in her stride, and collapsed into a chair.

"say that again," she groaned, "say that again."

"my words were perfectly plain," balmayne said, impatiently. "rené lalage is in the hands of the police; they know he is brother to the murdered man by certain letters found in his possession. also we know that in their queer way those two rascals were very fond of one another. there is not much suspicion yet, or isidore would not have told me so much tonight. but when ill-luck begins to dog one, it is amazing how far that ill-luck goes. for instance----"

"well? go on, nothing could be worse than what has happened."

"oh, can't it? it only wants garrett charlton to turn up now. we must get those notes from isidore at any hazard. they will remain in his possession--in fact, he told me tonight that he had them. he said----"

but the countess did not heed. absolutely worn out in mind and body she had fainted.