The least this old miser can do is to give you a neat little home in Geneva, as a final recompense." Justine Delande's eyes sparkled in gratitude.

The acute Major had easily learned from the garrulous Francois that the "Institut Pour les Jeunes Dames" was an intellectual property only; the fine old mansion belonging to a rich Genevese banker.

Major Alan Hawke was now busied in writing upon a few leaves torn from his betting book.
"Listen to me!" he gravely said.

"Promise me that you will never let these papers leave you a moment." "I will carry them in my passport case, around my neck," murmured Justine.

"My money in notes, and a few articles." "Good!" energetically cried Hawke.