CHAPTER IV

"IN THE NAME OF THE LAW"


When Kittredge, with cloak and bag, stepped into his waiting cab and, for
the second time on this villainous night, started down the Champs Elysées
he was under no illusion as to his personal safety. He knew that he would
be followed and presently arrested, he knew this without even glancing
behind him, he had understood the whispers and searching looks in the
hotel; it was _certain_ that his moments of liberty were numbered, so he
must make a clean job of this thing that had to be done while still there
was time. He had told the driver to cross the bridge and go down the
Boulevard St. Germain, but now he changed the order and, half opening the
door, he bade the man turn to the right and drive on to the Rue de
Vaugirard. He knew that this was a long, ill-lighted street, one of the
longest streets in Paris.

"There's no number," he called out. "Just keep going."

The driver grumbled and cracked his whip, and a moment later, peering back
through the front window, he saw his eccentric fare absorbed in examining a
white leather bag. He could see him distinctly by the yellow light of his
two side lanterns. The young man had opened one of the inner pockets of the
bag, drawing out a flap of leather under which a name was stamped quite
visibly in gilt letters. Presently he took out a pocket knife and tried to