correct. He had taken a high degree in science at Vienna and had settled in Langengrad as a teacher at the University there.

“Follow the Count’s car as closely as possible, Dick,” said Yvette. “We want to slip into Langengrad unnoticed, if possible. The fewer people who see the Mohawk the better.”

The Count’s car moved away almost noiselessly into the darkness. Several times Fédor stopped and listened intently, and once they waited an hour at a point where two roads crossed. Nothing happened, however, and about one o’clock in the morning they reached the outskirts of Langengrad. Here the Count left the main road and slipped into a series of crooked by-streets lit only by the light of the moon. Finally, he turned into the courtyard of an old-fashioned house standing in its own grounds and the Mohawk was speedily backed into a large empty shed, and the door locked.

“Now, Mr Manton,” said the Count in fair English, “will you drive Miss Pasquet in my car to the Continental and register there? She knows the way. Rooms have been taken for you. You had better use my car while you are here. In the meantime if we meet in public remember we are strangers. Foreigners here are pretty closely watched.”

The Hôtel Continental at Langengrad is one of those cosmopolitan caravanserais dear to the heart of the tourist. As usual it was crowded, and even at two o’clock in the morning the café was humming with activity. Consequently Dick and Yvette arrived almost unnoticed. Explaining that they had been delayed by a motor breakdown they were soon in their rooms and were sound asleep.

Next morning Yvette took Dick out into the gay pleasant city of boulevards and handsome buildings. He was immensely interested in the brilliant scene, but he realised they were on a desperate mission and took care to fix firmly in his mind the roads they would have to use. It was necessary, of course, to keep up the appearance of being mere gaping sightseers and they went from shop to shop buying a quantity of souvenirs which neither desired in the smallest degree, and arranging for them to be delivered to their hotel.

In the Balkanskaya, one of the principal streets, Yvette paused at last before a jewellers’ window which blazed with gems. A moment later, followed by Dick, she slipped into a narrow passage at the side of the shop and turning into a doorway began to mount a flight of stairs which seemingly led to suites of offices in the upper part of the building. On the third floor she halted before a dingy 

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