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with self-pity, 'when I see Mrs Gedge swanking around in those jewels I can understand how men become cynics.'
    For an instant the significance of the remark did not seem to penetrate to Mr Slattery's consciousness. He said Ah' again in rather an absent voice, and refreshed himself from his glass. Then, suddenly, he jumped as if something hot had touched him.
    'Swanking around? Do you mean she's got them with her?'
    'Yessir.'
    'Right there at the Chatty-o?'
    'Yessir.'
    There was a pause.
    'Keeps them in a safe, I suppose?' asked Mr Slattery casually.
    'When she isn't wearing them.'
    Mr Slattery fell into a rueful silence. He was thinking of what might have been. If only his lost Julia were with him now, he mused, how swiftly she would think up some plan for getting into this Château and working the inside stand. Lacking her gentle aid, it seemed to him that he was helpless.
    Of course, there was Oily. Oily had expressed himself willing to do the inside work. But how was he to make Mr Gedge's acquaintance and so qualify for an invitation to the Chatty-o? It was the difficulty of establishing that first link that saddened Mr Slattery. He could scarcely introduce Gordon Carlisle to Mr Gedge. He was not a very intelligent man, but even he could see that a prospective visitor to the Château Blissac would require better credentials than an introduction from a stick-up man and expert safe-blower.
    He drew in a deep breath. The thing seemed cold, after all.
    He was aroused from his meditations by a stirring in the seat opposite. Mr Gedge was making preparations for departure.
    'You going?'
    'Yes sir. Got to get back.'
    'What's your hurry?'
    'Well, I'll tell you. Mrs Gedge is off to England to-day on the afternoon boat, and there'll be a lot of things she'll be wanting to talk to me about. Goodbye, Mr Slattery. Pleased to have met you.'
    Mr Slattery did not reply. Although his granite face did not show it, inwardly he was tingling with rapture. It was as if there had been a belt of fog hiding the Promised Land from him and Mr Gedge had ripped it apart and brought the sun smiling through.
    Historians relate of the mathematician Archimedes that on a certain occasion, having solved some intricate problem, he leaped from the bath in which he was sitting and ran through the streets crying 'Eureka! Eureka!' Mr Slattery was not in his bath, but if he had been he would certainly have left it now, and it is highly probable that, if he had known what it meant, he would have shouted 'Eureka!' For he had found the way.
    A moment later he was out in the street, hurrying towards the Hotel des Etrangers.
6
    Mr Carlisle was still in the cocktail bar. Mr Slattery made for his table.
    'Oily,' he said, 'we're sitting pretty. The thing's in the bag!' Mr Carlisle sat up alertly. His friend, he knew, was no idle talker. Seldom, too, was he as emotional as this. Strong and silent were the adjectives which sprang to the lips when describing Soup Slattery. If Mr Slattery was excited, it meant something.
    'What thing? What we were talking about?'
    'Sure. That Chatty-o. I've just run into the guy that lives there.'
    Mr Carlisle's animation increased.
    'How did you do that?'
    'We happened to meet,' said Mr Slattery with a touch of embarrassment. 'And we got chummy and had a drink. And he says Mrs Gedge don't keep her ice at no bank. She's got it right there with her. In a safe she keeps it. Well, say! Show me the pete I can't open with my eye-teeth and a pin, and I'll eat it. And when I say that,' added Mr Slattery with justifiable pride, 'I'm not handing myself a thing.'
    'But...'
    'I know. The inside stand. How are we going to work it? I'll tell you. This Gedge dame is sailing for England this afternoon.'
    He paused to allow the momentous information to sink in. A glance at his companion's face told him that he had not overestimated the agility of the other's mind. Mr Carlisle took his meaning instantly.
    'I go on the boat and get acquainted?'
    'That's