Braine and his men dashed into the library. Olga entered leisurely.

"Both of them!" yelled Braine exultantly. "Both of them together; what luck!"

There was a sharp, fierce struggle; and when it came to an end Hargreave was trussed to a chair.

"Ah, so we meet again, Hargreave!" said Braine.

Hargreave shrugged. What he wanted was time.

"A million! We have you. Where is it, or I'll twist your heart before your eyes."

"Father, forgive me!"

"I understand, my child."

"Where is it?" Braine seized Florence by the wrist and swung her toward him.

"Don't tell him, father; don't mind me," said the girl bravely.

Braine, smiling his old evil smile, drew the girl close. It was the last time he ever touched her.

"Look!" screamed Olga.

Every one turned, to see Jones' face peering between the curtains.

There was an ironic smile on the butler's lips. The face vanished.

"After him!" cried Braine, releasing Florence.

"After him!" mimicked a voice from the hall.

The curtains were thrown back suddenly. Jones appeared, and Jim and the Russian agent and a dozen policemen. Tableau!

Braine sprang at Florence savagely, and Norton tore him back, and they went tumbling through the library and the living room. It was a death struggle; make no mistake about that. The others dared not shoot for fear of hitting Norton. But the Countess Olga, in the hallway, dared the risk. As Norton's back came into view she fired. Almost at the same instant Norton had swung Braine about. A shudder ran through the arch-scoundrel, his hands slipped off Norton's shoulders, a surprised expression swept over his face, then he sank inertly to the floor, dead.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BRAINE SANK INERTLY TO THE FLOOR, DEAD]

Olga ran up-stairs wildly, followed by a determined policeman. She dashed into Florence's room and locked the door. Instantly she crossed over to the window, and paused.

Down-stairs the police were marching off the leaders of the Black Hundred.

"Well," said Norton, "I guess it's all over. And, my word for it, Mr.

Jedson, you've played your end consummately."

"Jedson!" exclaimed Jones, starting back.

"Yes, Jedson, formerly of Scotland Yard," went on the reporter. "I recognized him long ago."

"It is true," said Hargreave, taking Jones' hand in his own. "Fifteen years ago I employed him to watch my affairs, and very well has he done so."

Presently, Hargreave, Jones, Florence and Jim were alone. That smile which had revealed to Florence her father's ident.i.ty stole over his face again. He put his hand on Jim's shoulder and beckoned to Florence.

"Are you really anxious to marry this young man?"

Florence nodded.

"Well, then, do so. And go to Europe with him on your honeymoon; and as a wedding present to you both, for every dollar that he has I will add a hundred; and when you get tired of travel you will both come hack here to live. The Black Hundred has ceased to exist."

"And now," said Jones, shaking his shoulders.

"Well?" said Hargreave.

"My business is done. Still--" Jones paused.

"Go on," said Hargreave soberly.

"Well, the truth is, sir, I've grown used to you. And if you'll let me play the butler till the end I shall be most happy."

"I was going to suggest it."

Norton took Florence by the hand and drew her away.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"I'm going to take this pretty hand of yours and put it flat upon one million dollars. And if you don't believe it, follow me."

She followed.

CHAPTER XXIII

It will be remembered that the Countess Olga had darted up the stairs during the struggle between Braine and his captors. The police who had followed her were recalled to pursue one of the lesser rogues. This left Olga free for a moment. She stole out and down as far as the landing.

Servan, the Russian agent, stood waiting for the taxi-cab to roll up to the porte-cochere for himself, Braine and Vroon. Norton had taken Florence by the hand, ostensibly to conduct her to the million.

Suddenly Braine made a dash for liberty. Norton rushed after him.

Just as he reached Braine, a shot rang out. Braine whirled upon his heels and crashed to the floor.

Olga, intent upon giving injury to Norton, who she regarded equally with Hargreave as having brought about the downfall, had hit her lover instead. With a cry of despair she dashed back into Florence's room, quite ready to end it all. She raised the revolver to her temple, shuddered, and lowered the weapon: so tenaciously do we cling to life!

Below, they were all quite stunned by the suddenness of the shot.

Instantly they sought the fallen man's side, and a hasty examination gave them the opinion that the man was dead. Happily a doctor was on the way, Servan having given the call, as one of the Black Hundred had been wounded badly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: INSTANTLY THEY SOUGHT THE FALLEN MAN'S SIDE]

But what to do with that mad woman up-stairs? Hargreave advised them to wait. The house was surrounded; she could not possibly escape save by one method, and perhaps that would be the best for her. Hargreave looked gravely at Norton as he offered this suggestion. The reporter understood: the millionaire was willing to give the woman a chance.

"And you are my father?" said Florence, still bewildered by the amazing events. "But I don't understand yet!" her gaze roving from the real Jones to her father.