as a proof that it is the right one, as “an earnest” of what the remainder is worth.  And you must bring me that “remainder” without fail, Gaston—­you hear me?—­without fail!  I shall be there, at the rendezvous, awaiting you, and the thing must be in our hands when von Hetzler comes.  The thing must be finished to-morrow night, even if you and Serpice have to throw all caution to the winds and throttle the old fool.’  Then, as if answering a further question, she laughingly added:  ’Oh, get that fear out of your head.  I’m not a bat, to be caught napping.  I’ll give it to no one but Clodoche—­and not even to him until he gives the secret sign.’  And then, Mr. Cleek, as she closed the trap I heard the man call back to her ‘Good night’ and give her a name I had not heard before.  We had always supposed that she had been christened ‘Suzanne,’ but as that man left he called her—­”

“I know before you tell me—­’Margot’!” interjected Cleek.  “I guessed the identity of this ‘Countess de la Tour’ from the moment you spoke of Clodoche and that secret trap.  Her knowledge of those two betrayed her to me.  Clodoche is a renegade Alsatian, a spy in the pay of the German Government, and an old habitue of ‘The Inn of the Twisted Arm,’ where the Queen of the Apaches and her pals hold their frequent revels.  I can guess the remainder of your story now.  You carried this news to the Baron de Carjorac, and he, breaking down, confessed to you that he had lost something.”

“Yes, yes—­a dreadful ‘something,’ Mr. Cleek:  the horrible thing that has been making life an agony to him ever since.  On the night when that abominable ‘Red Crawl’ first overcame him, there was upon his person a most important document—­a rough draft of the maps of fortification and the plan of the secret defences of France, the identical document from which was afterwards transcribed the parchment now deposited in the secret archives of the Republic.  When Baron de Carjorac recovered his senses after his horrifying experience—­”

“That document was gone?”

“Part of it, Mr. Cleek—­thank God, only a part!  If it had been the parchment itself, no such merciful thing could possibly have happened.  But the paper was old, much folding and handling had worn the creases through, and when, in his haste, the secret robber grabbed it, whilst that loathsome creature held the old man down, it parted directly down the middle, and he got only a vertical section of each of its many pages.”

“Victoria!  ‘And the fool hath said in his heart, There is no God,’” quoted Cleek.  “So, then, the hirelings of the enemy have only got half what they are after; and, as no single sentence can be complete upon a paper torn like that, nothing can be made of it until the other half is secured, and—­our German friends are still ‘up a gum-tree.’  I know now why the baron stayed on at the Chateau Larouge, and why ‘The Red Crawl’ is preparing to pay him another visit to-night:  he hoped, poor chap, to find a clue to the whereabouts of the fragment he had lost; and that thing is after the fragment he still retains.  Well, it will be a long, long day before either of those two fragments fall into German hands.”