“He’s here, I think,” said Ste. Marie.  “I saw him a few days ago.”

The man on the wall had found two notes of a hundred francs each, and he dropped them down to Ste. Marie’s hands.  Also he gave him a small revolver which he had in his pocket, one of the little automatic weapons such as Olga Nilssen had brought to the rue du Faubourg St. Honore.  Afterward he glanced up and said: 

“Two people are coming out of the house.  I shall have to go.  At two to-night, then—­and at this spot.  We shall be on time.”

He drew back out of sight, and the other man heard the cedar-tree shake slightly as he went down it to the ground.  Then Ste. Marie turned and walked quickly back to the place where Mlle. O’Hara had left him.  His heart was leaping with joy and exultation, for now at last he thought that the end was in sight—­the end he had so long labored and hoped for.  He knew that his face must be flushed and his eyes bright, and he made a strong effort to crush down these tokens of his triumph—­to make his bearing seem natural and easy.  He might have spared himself the pains.

Young Arthur Benham and Coira O’Hara came together down under the trees from the house.  They walked swiftly, and the boy was a step in advance, his face white with excitement and anger.  He began to speak while he was still some distance away.  He cried out, in his strident young voice: 

“What the devil is all this silly nonsense about old Charlie and lies and misunderstandings and—­and all that guff?” he demanded.  “What the devil is it?  D’you think I’m a fool?  D’you think I’m a kid?  Well, I’m not!”

He came close to Ste. Marie, staring at him with an angry scowl, but his scowl twitched and wavered and his hands shook a little beside him and his breath came irregularly.  He was frightened.

“There is no nonsense,” said Ste. Marie.  “There is no nonsense in all this whole sorry business.  But there has been a great deal of misunderstanding and a great many lies and not a little cruelty.  It’s time you knew the truth at last.”  He turned his eyes to where Coira O’Hara stood near-by.  “How much have you told him?” he asked.

And the girl said:  “I told him everything, or almost.  But I had to say it very quickly, and—­he wouldn’t believe me.  I think you’d best tell him again.”

The boy gave a short, contemptuous laugh.

“Well, I don’t want to hear it,” said he.

He was looking toward the girl.  He said: 

“This fellow may be able to hypnotize you, all right, but not Willie.  Little Willie’s wise to guys like him.”

And swinging about to Ste. Marie, he cried: 

“Forget it!  For-get it!  I don’t want to listen to your little song to-day.  Ah, you make me sick!  You’d try to make me turn on old Charlie, would you?  Why, old Charlie’s the only real friend I’ve got in the world.  Old Charlie has always stood up for me against the whole bunch of them.  Forget it, George!  I’m wise to your graft.”