Elaine was astounded at the kaleidoscopic turn of affairs, too astounded even to make an outcry.  As for me, it was all so sudden that I had no chance to take part in it.  Besides I should not have known quite on which side to fight.  So I did nothing.

But as it was over so quickly, I took a step forward to our latest arrival.

“Beg pardon, old man,” I began, “but don’t you think this is just a little raw?  What’s it all about?”

The newest comer eyed me for a moment, then with quiet dignity drew from his pocket and handed me his card which read simply: 

M. Del Mar, Private Investigator.

As I looked up, I saw Del Mar’s other policeman bringing in another manacled man.

“These are crooks—­foreign agents,” replied Del Mar pointing to the prisoners.  “The government has employed me to run them down.”

“What of this?” asked Elaine holding up the note from Bertrand.

“A fake, a forgery,” reiterated Del Mar, looking at it a moment critically.  Then to the men uniformed as police he ordered, “You can take them to jail.  They’re the fellows, all right.”

As the prisoners were led off, Del Mar turned to Elaine.  “Would you mind answering a few questions about these men?”

“Why—­no,” she hesitated.  “But I think we’d better go into the house, after such a thing as this.  It makes me feel nervous.”

With Del Mar I followed Elaine in through the conservatory.

. . . . . . .

Del Mar had scarcely registered at the La Coste when the smaller car which had been waiting at the fisherman’s hut drew up before the hotel entrance.  From it alighted the fussy old gentleman who bore such a remarkable resemblance to the fisherman, hastily paid his driver and entered the hotel.

He went directly to the desk and with well-manicured finger, scarcely reminiscent of a fisherman, began tracing the names down the list until he stopped before one which read: 

Marcius Del Mar and valet.  Washington, D. C. Room 520.

With a quick glance about, he made a note of it, and turned away, leaving the La Coste to take up quarters of his own in the Prince Henry down the street.

Not until Del Mar had left with his two policemen did the fussy old gentleman reappear in the La Coste.  Then he rode up to Del Mar’s room and rapped at the door.

“Is Mr. Del Mar in?” he inquired of the valet.

“No, sir,” replied that functionary.

The little old man appeared to consider, standing a moment dandling his silk hat.  Absent-mindedly he dropped it.  As the valet stooped to pick it up, the old gentleman exhibited an agility and strength scarcely to be expected of his years.  He seized the valet, while with one foot he kicked the door shut.

Before the surprised servant knew what was going on, his assailant had whipped from his pocket a handkerchief in which was concealed a thin tube of anesthetic.  Then leaving the valet prone in a corner with the handkerchief over his face, he proceeded to make a systematic search of the rooms, opening all drawers, trunks and bags.