“Rough stuff, monsieur?  You mean, physical force?”

“Not exactly.  But I think you’ll recall my telling you I stand in well with the Police Department in the old home town.  Maybe you thought that was swank.  Likely you did.  But it wasn’t.  I’ve got a couple of friends of mine from Headquarters waiting downstairs this very minute, ready and willing to cop out the honour of putting the Lone Wolf under arrest for stealing the Montalais jewels.”

“But is it possible,” Lanyard protested, “you still do not understand me?  Is it possible you still believe I am a thief at heart and interested in those jewels only to turn them to my own profit?”

He stared unbelievingly at the frosty eyes of Monk beneath their fatuously stubborn brows, at the hard, unyielding eyes of Phinuit.

“You said it,” this last replied with brevity.

“It was a good bluff while it lasted, Monsieur Lanyard,” Monk added; “but it couldn’t last forever.  You can’t get away with it.  Why not give in gracefully, admit you’re licked for once, be a good fellow?”

“My God!” Lanyard pronounced in comic despair—­“it passes understanding!  It is true, then—­and true especially of such as you are to-day, as I was in my yesterday—­that ’Whom Fortune wishes to destroy she first makes mad’!  For, I give you my word of honour, you seem to me quite mad, messieurs, too mad to be allowed at large.  And in proof of my sincerity, I propose that you shall not longer remain at large.”

“What’s that?” Monk demanded, startled.

“Why, you have not hesitated to threaten me with the police.  So now I, in my turn, have the honour to inform you that, anticipating this call, I have had relays of detectives waiting in this hotel day and night, with instructions to guard the doors as soon as you were shown up to my rooms.  Be advised, Mr. Phinuit, and forget your pistol.  Even to show it in this city would make matters infinitely worse for you than they are.”

“He’s lying,” Monk insisted, putting a restraining hand on Phinuit’s arm as that one started from his chair in rage and panic.  “He wouldn’t dare.”

“Would I not?  Then, since you believe nothing till it is proved to you, messieurs, permit me...”

Lanyard crossed rapidly to the hall door and flung it open—­and fell back a pace with a cry of amazement.

At the threshold stood, not the detective whom he had expected to see, but a woman with a cable message form in one hand, the other lifted to knock.

“Madame!” Lanyard gasped—­“Madame de Montalais!”

The cable-form fluttered to the floor as she entered with a gladness in her face that was carried out by the impulsive gesture with which she gave him her hands.

“My dear friend!” she cried happily—­“I am so glad!  And to think we have been guests of the same hotel for three livelong days and never knew it.  I arrived by La Touraine Saturday, but your message, telegraphed back from Combe-Redonde, reached me not five minutes ago.  I telephoned the desk, they told me the number of your room and—­here I am!”