not have fascinated him more than the dissimilarity of these two
thumb-prints. He said nothing, but a queer little strangling sound
came through his lips.

Who? Where? His heart beat so violently that the veins in his throat
swelled and threatened to burst. But he was no weakling. He summoned
all his will. He must act, and act at once, immediately.

Fitzgerald? No, not that clever, idling fool. But who, who? He
replaced the papers and the lock. A hidden menace. Question as he
would, there was never any answer.

He practised the pleasant deceit that the first mark had been there
when the diagram had been given to him. It was not possible that any
one had discovered his hiding-place. Had he not with his own hands
contrived it, alone and without aid, under that accursed mansard roof?
Not one of his co-adventurers knew; they had advanced him funds on his
word. His other documents they had seen; these had sufficed them.
Still, back it came, with deadly insistence; some one was digging at
the bricks in the chimney. The drama was beginning to move. Had he
waited too long?

Mechanically, he proceeded to dress for dinner. Since he was to sit at
the family table, he must fit his dress and manners to the hour. He
did not resist the sardonic smile as he put on his fresh patent
leathers and his new dinner coat. He recalled Fitzgerald's
half-concealed glances of pity the last time they had dined together.

In the room across the corridor, Fitzgerald was busy with a similar
occupation. The only real worry he had was the doubt of his luggage