" "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. ‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle. ‘More nor that. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. I believe that the common report was that you and your sister had come to Paris to study painting. ” The detective nodded. But if he's in bed, how the devil is he going with me, supposing I decide to hire him? The mudhook comes up to-morrow night. Remember what the conjuror said. “Perhaps for myself I do not mind, but this man is sure to find out some day, and he will not like having been deceived.
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