"They say that the Wolves have become sheep.

We shall see! It is an affair, this, worth considering.

What do you pay, Monsieur le Gros, and for how long do you wish him out of the way ?" "The pay," Selingman announced, "is two hundred louis, and the man must be in hospital for at least a fortnight." Draconmeyer leaned suddenly forward.

His eyes were bright, his hands gripped the table.
"Listen!" he whispered in Coulois' ear.

"Are the Wolves sheep, indeed, that they can do no more than twist ankles and break heads?
That two hundred shall be five hundred, Jean Coulois, but it must be a cemetery to which they take him, and not a hospital!" [Illustration: "That two hundred shall be five hundred, but it must be a cemetery to which they take him!"] There was a moment's silence.