A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL

CHAPTER I


It was shortly after midnight in the great Hôtel des Tuileries at Paris.

Beyond the façade of the hotel the gardens of the Tuileries were
sleeping in the warm night. To the left the Louvre etched itself in
solid black against the sky, and all up and down the Rue de Rivoli
carriages and automobiles were still moving.

But in the great thoroughfare the tide of vehicles and foot passengers
was perceptibly thinning. Paris is a midnight city, it is true, and at
this hour the heights of Montmart...