“A pleasant greeting from the woman I made my wife.”

“Would that fate had never thrown us together; that I had never heard your name!”

“No one can wish it more sincerely than myself,” replied Gascoigne.  “It was you who wrecked and ruined my life.”

“And what have you done to me, Rupert Gascoigne?  Could you not leave me in peace?  Why follow me to persecute me, to rob me and my son—­”

“Of the proceeds of your infamy?” interrupted Gascoigne, or Hyde, as I prefer to call him; “I will tell you.  Because you dared to plot against a man I esteem.  Whatever has happened to Stanislas McKay, he owes it, I feel confident, to you.  I may never see him again—­”

“You never will, and for a double reason.  Do not hope, Rupert Gascoigne, to leave this place again.”

And she looked capable of taking his life then and there.

“Come, come!  Cyprienne; you are going too far.  Mr. Gascoigne has not behaved very well, perhaps, but it is not for us to call him to account.  We will leave him to the myrmidons of the law.  He is wanted, we know, by the police.”

“Am I?” said Hyde, mockingly; “so are others, as you will find.  At this moment the house is surrounded.  The authorities have long had their eye on Hippolyte Ledantec, alias Hobson, the Russian spy.”

The confederates looked at each other uneasily, and Ledantec said—­

“It can hardly be so.  But it will be well to ascertain and take precautions.  Come! there is a way out of this house known only to me.”

And, so saying, he went towards the door, followed by Mrs. Wilders.  Suddenly he paused, surprised by a loud knocking outside.

They heard the old woman’s voice angrily asking who was there; they heard the reply, spoken loudly and authoritatively.

“The police!  Open, in the name of the law.  Open! or we shall break the door down.”

Next minute the apartment was invaded by a posse of police, all of whom were drawn to where Hyde was by his loud cries of “Here!  Here!”

“Let no one move,” said the chief of the police, briefly.  “What is the meaning of this?  Who are you?” This was to Ledantec.

“My name is Mr. Hobson, a British subject, and member of the press.  I shall require you to explain this intrusion.”

“His real name is Ledantec!” cried Hyde, interposing.  “Ex-gambler, and now spy in the pay of the Russians.  This woman is his accomplice.”

“And who may you be?” said the police-officer, turning to Hyde.

“I know this gentleman,” put in the attache whom Hyde had seen at the Embassy.  “He is a British officer—­Mr. Hyde.”

“I know better!” cried Ledantec, with a scornful laugh.  “I denounce him as Rupert Gascoigne, the perpetrator of the murder in Tinplate Street, fifteen years ago.  The case cannot yet be forgotten at the Prefecture.”

“Is it possible?” said the chief of the police, looking curiously at Hyde.  “Surely I should recognise you.  I was one of those from whom you escaped by jumping into the Seine.”