Then Elaine picked up her bag and we went out.  A moment later we climbed back into the car and were off again.

. . . . . . .

Having left us at the door, Del Mar hurried back to the library.  He went straight to the desk and picked up the book, eager now to make sure of the safety of the plan.

It was gone!

“Did you, Smith—­” he began hastily, then checked himself, knowing that the clerk had not taken the plan.

Del Mar walked over to the couch and stood a moment looking at the chauffeur.  “I wonder who he is,” he said to himself.  “I don’t recall ever seeing him at the station or in the village.”

He leaned over closer.  “The deuce!” he exclaimed, “that’s a fake beard the fellow has on.”

Del Mar made a lunge for it.  As he did so, the chauffeur leaped to his feet and drew a gun.  “Hands up!” he shouted.  “And the first man that moves is a dead one!”

Before the secret agent knew it, both he and Smith were covered.  The chauffeur took a step toward Smith and unceremoniously jerked off the widow’s weeds, as well as the wig.

At that very moment one of Del Mar’s men came up to the secret panel that opened from the underground passageway into his library.  He was about to open it when he heard a sound on the other side that startled him.  He listened a moment, then slid it just a short distance and looked in.

There he saw a chauffeur holding up Del Mar and Smith.  Having pulled the disguise from Smith, he went next around Del Mar and took his gun from his pocket, then passed his hands over the folds of Smith’s dress, but found no weapon.  He stepped back away from them.

At that point the man quietly slid the panel all the way open and silently stepped into the room, behind the chauffeur.  Cautiously he began sneaking up on him.

As he did so, Del Mar and Smith watched, fascinated.  Somehow their faces must have betrayed that something was wrong.  For, as the newcomer leaped at him, the chauffeur turned suddenly and fired.  The shot wounded the man.

It was a signal for a free-for-all fight.  Del Mar and Smith leaped at the intruder.  Over and over they rolled, breaking furniture, overturning and smashing bric-a-brac.

Del Mar’s revolver was knocked out of the chauffeur’s hand.  With a blow of a chair, the chauffeur laid out Smith, entangled in his unfamiliar garments, shook himself loose from the two others, and made a rush at the door.

Del Mar paused only long enough to pick up the revolver from the floor.  Instantly he fired at the retreating form.  But the chauffeur had passed out and banged shut the door.  Down the walk he sped and out to the gate, into his car, the engine of which he had left running.

Hard after him came Del Mar and the rest, joined now by Henry, the valet.  One shot was left in the chauffeur’s revolver and he blazed away as he leaped into the car.