THE UTTERMOST FARTHING

 BY MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES

 1910

COLLECTION OF BRITISH AUTHORS_COPYRIGHT EDITION_VOL. 4174. LEIPZIG: BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ. PARIS: LIBRAIRIE H. GAULON & CIE, 39, RUE MADAME. PARIS: THE GALIGNANI LIBRARY, 224, RUE DE RIVOLI, AND AT NICE, 8, AVENUEMASSÉNA. 

"Thou shalt by no means come out thence till thou hast paid theuttermost farthing. "

I. 

Laurence Vanderlyn, unpaid attaché at the American Embassy in Paris, strode down the long grey platform marked No. 5, of the Gare de Lyon. Itwas seven o'clock, the hour at which Paris is dining or is about todine, and the huge station was almost deserted. 

The train de luxe had gone more than an hour ago, the Riviera rapidewould not start till ten, but one of those trains bound for the South, curiously named demi-rapides, was timed to leave in twenty minutes. 

Foreigners, especially Englishmen and Americans, avoid these trains, andthis was why Laurence Vanderlyn had chosen it as the starting point ofwhat was to be a great adventure, an adventure which must for ever beconcealed, obliterated as much as may be from his own memory--do not menbabble in delirium?--once life had again become the rather grey thing hehad found it to be. 

In the domain of the emotions it is the unexpected which generallyhappens, and now it was not only the unexpected but the incredible whichhad happened to this American diplomatist. He and Margaret Pargeter, theEnglishwoman whom he had loved with an absorbing, unsatisfied passion, and an ever-increasing concentration and selfless devotion, for sevenyears, were about to do that which each had sworn, together andseparately, should never come to pass, --that is, they were about tosnatch from Fate a few days of such free happiness and communion asduring their long years of intimacy they had never enjoyed. In order tosecure these fleeting moments of joy, she, the woman in the case, wasabout to run the greatest risk which can in these days be incurred bycivilised woman. 

Margaret Pargeter was not free as Vanderlyn was free; she was awife, --not a happy wife, but one on whose reputation no shadow had everrested, --and further, she was the mother of a child, a son, whom sheloved with an anxious tenderness. .. . It was these two facts which madewhat she was going to do a matter of such moment not only to herself, but to the man to whom she was now about to commit her honour. 

Striding up and down the platform to which he had bought early access byone of those large fees for which the travelling American of a certaintype is famed, Vanderlyn, with his long lean figure, and sternpre-occupied face, did not suggest, to the French eyes idly watchinghim, a lover, --still less the happy third in one of those conjugalcomedies which play so much greater a part in French literature and inFrench drama than they do in French life. He had thrust far back intohis heart the leaping knowledge of what was about to befall him, and hewas bending the whole strength of his mind to avert any possible dangerof ignoble catastrophe to the woman whom he was awaiting, and whosesudden surrender was becoming more, instead of less, amazing as the longminutes dragged by. 

Vanderlyn's mind went back to the moment, four short days ago, when thisjourney had been suddenly arranged. Mrs. Pargeter had just come backfrom England, where she had gone to pay some family visits and to seeher little son, who was at a preparatory school; and the Americandiplomatist, as was so often his wont, had come to escort her to one ofthose picture club shows in which Parisian society delights. 

Then, after a quarter of an hour spent by them at the exhibition, thetwo friends had slipped away, and had done a thing which was perhapsimprudent. But each longed, with an unspoken eager craving, to be alonewith the other; the beauty of Paris in springtime tempted them, and itwas the woman who had proposed to the man that they should spend a quiethour walking through one of those quarters of old Paris unknown to thetravelling foreigner. 

Eagerly Vanderlyn had assented, and so they had driven quickly down theRue de Rivoli, right into the heart of that commercial quarter which wasthe Paris of Madame de Sévigné, of the bitter witty dwarf, Scarron, ofNinon de l'Enclos, and, more lately, of Victor Hugo. There, dismissingtheir cab, they had turned into that still, stately square, once the oldPlace Royale, now the Place des Vosges, of which each arcaded housegarners memories of passionate romance. 

Walking slowly up and down the solitary garden there, the two haddiscussed the coming August, and Margaret Pargeter had admitted, with arather weary sigh, that she was as yet quite ignorant whether herhusband intended to yacht, to shoot, or to travel, --whether he meant totake her with him, or to leave her at some seaside place with the boy. 

As she spoke, in the low melodious voice which still had the power tothrill the man by her side as it had had in the earlier days of theiracquaintance, Mrs. Pargeter said no word that all the world might nothave heard, yet, underlying all she said, his questions and her answers, was the mute interrogation--which of the alternatives discussed held outthe best chance, to Vanderlyn and herself, of being together?

At last, quite suddenly, Mrs. Pargeter, turning and looking up into hercompanion's face, had said something which Laurence Vanderlyn had feltto be strangely disconcerting; for a brief moment she lifted the veilwhich she had herself so deliberately and for so long thrown over theirambiguous relation--"Ah! Laurence, " she exclaimed with a sigh, "the wayof the transgressor is hard!"

Then, speaking so quietly that for a moment he did not fully understandthe amazing nature of the proposal she was making to him, she haddeliberately offered to go away with him--for a week. The way in whichthis had come about had been strangely simple; looking back, Vanderlyncould scarcely believe that his memory was playing him true. .. . 

From the uncertain future they had come back to the immediate present, and Mrs. Pargeter said something of having promised her only intimatefriend, a Frenchwoman much older than herself, a certain Madame de Léra, to go and spend a few days in a villa near Paris--"If you do that, " hesaid, "then I think I may as well go down to Orange and see the houseI've just bought there. "

She had turned on him with a certain excitement in her manner. "You'vebought it? That strange, beautiful place near Orange where you used tostay when you were studying in Paris? Oh, Laurence, I'd no idea that youreally meant to buy it!"

A little surprised at the keenness of her interest, he had answeredquietly, "Yes, when the owner was going through Paris last week, I foundhe wanted the money, so--so the house is mine, though none of the legalformalities have yet been complied with. I'm told that the old woman whowas caretaker there can make me comfortable enough for the few days Ican be away. " He added in a different, a lower tone, "Ah! Peggy, if onlyit were possible for us to go there together--how you would delight inthe place!"

"Would you like me to come with you? I will if you like, Laurence. " Shehad asked the question very simply--but Vanderlyn, looking at herquickly, had seen that her hand was trembling, her eyes brimming withtears. Then she had spoken gently, deliberately--seeming to plead withherself, rather than with him, for a few days of such dual lonelinessfor which all lovers long and which during their long years of intimacythey had never once, even innocently, enjoyed. And he had grasped withexultant gratitude--what man would have done otherwise?--at what sheherself came and offered him. 

Walking up and down the solitary platform, Vanderlyn lived over againeach instant of that strange momentous conversation uttered four daysago in the stately sunlit square which forms the heart of old Paris. Howthe merry ghost of Marion Delorme, peeping out of one of the long narrowcasements of the corner house which was once hers, must have smiled tohear this virtuous Englishwoman cast virtue to the light Parisian winds!

Vanderlyn also recalled, with almost the same surprise and discomfort ashe had experienced at the time itself, the way in which MargaretPargeter, so refined and so delicately bred, had discussed all thematerial details connected with their coming adventure--details fromwhich the American diplomatist himself had shrunk, and which he wouldhave done almost anything to spare her. 

"There is one person, and one alone, " she had said with some decision, "who must know. I must tell Adèle de Léra--she must have my address, forI cannot remain without news of my boy a whole week. As for Tom"--shehad flushed, and then gone on steadily--"Tom will believe that I amgoing to stay with Adèle at Marly-le-Roi, and my letters will be sent toher house. Besides, " she had added, "Tom himself is going away, toEngland, for a fortnight. "

To the man then walking by her side, and even now, as he was rememberingit all, the discussion was inexpressibly odious. "But do you think, " hehad ventured to ask, "that Madame de Léra will consent? Remember, Peggy, she is Catholic, and what is more, a pious Catholic. "

"Of course she won't like it--of course she won't approve! But I'msure--in fact, Laurence, I _know_--that she will consent to forward myletters. She understands that it would make no difference--that I shouldthink of some other plan for getting them. Should she refuse at the lastmoment--but--but she will not refuse--" and her face--the fair, delicately-moulded little face Vanderlyn loved--had become flooded withcolour. 

For the first time since he had known her, he had realised that therewas a side to her character of which he was ignorant, and yet?--and yetLaurence Vanderlyn knew Margaret Pargeter too well, his love of herimplied too intimate a knowledge, for him not to perceive that somethinglay behind her secession from an ideal of conduct to which she had clungso unswervingly and for such long years. 

During the four days which had elapsed between then and now, --days ofagitation, of excitement, and of suspense, --he had more than once askedhimself whether it were possible that certain things which all the worldhad long known concerning Tom Pargeter had only just become revealed toTom Pargeter's wife. He hoped, he trusted, this was not so; he had nodesire to owe her surrender to any ignoble longing for reprisal. 

The world, especially that corner of Vanity Fair which takes a franklymaterialistic view of life and of life's responsibilities, is shrewderthan we generally credit, and the diplomatist's intimacy with thePargeter household had aroused but small comment in the strange polyglotsociety in which lived, by choice, Tom Pargeter, the cosmopolitanmillionaire who was far more of a personage in Paris and in the Frenchsporting world than he could ever have hoped to be in England. 

To all appearance Laurence Vanderlyn was as intimate with the husband aswith the wife, for he had tastes in common with them both, his interestin sport and in horseflesh being a strong link with Tom Pargeter, whilehis love of art, and his dilettante literary tastes, bound him to Peggy. Also, and perhaps above all, he was an American--and Europeans cherishstrange and sometimes fond illusions as to your American's lack ofcapacity for ordinary human emotion. 

He alone knew that his tie with Mrs. Pargeter grew, if not morepassionate, then more absorbing and intimate as time went on, and he wassometimes, even now, at considerable pains to put the busybodies oftheir circle off the scent. 

But indeed it would have required a very sharp, a very keen, human houndto find the scent of what had been so singular and so innocent a tie. Each had schooled the other to accept all that she would admit waspossible. True, Vanderlyn saw Margaret Pargeter almost every day, butmore often than not in the presence of acquaintances. She never came tohis rooms, and she had never seemed tempted to do any of the imprudentthings which many a woman, secure of her own virtue, will sometimes doas if to prove the temper of her honour's blade. 

So it was that Mrs. Pargeter had never fallen into the ranks of thosewomen who become the occasion for even good-natured gossip. The very wayin which they had, till to-night, conducted what she, the woman, waspleased to call their friendship, made this which was now happeningseem, even now, to the man who was actually waiting for her to join him, as unsubstantial, as likely to vanish, mirage-wise, as a dream. 

And yet Vanderlyn passionately loved this woman whom most men would havethought too cold to love, and who had known how to repress and tutor, not only her own, but also his emotions. He loved her, too, so foolishlyand fondly that he had fashioned the whole of his life so that it shouldbe in harmony with hers, making sacrifices of which he had told hernothing in order that he might surround her--an ill-mated, neglectedwife--with a wordless atmosphere of devotion which had become to her asvital, as necessary, as is that of domestic peace and happiness to theaverage woman. But for Laurence Vanderlyn and his "friendship, " Mrs. Pargeter's existence would have been lacking in all human savour, andthat from ironic circumstance rather than from any fault of her own. 

 * * * * *

Vanderlyn had spent the day in a fever of emotion and suspense, and hehad arrived at the Gare de Lyon a good hour before the time the trainfor Orange was due to leave. 

At first he had wandered about the great railway-station aimlessly, avoiding the platform whence he knew he and his companion were to start. Then, with relief, he had hailed the moment for securing coming privacyin the unreserved railway carriage; this had not been quite an easymatter to compass, for he desired to avoid above all any appearance ofsecrecy. 

But he need not have felt any anxiety, for whereas in an Englishrailway-station his large "tip" to the guard, carrying with itsignificant promise of final largesse, would have spelt but one thing, and that thing love, the French railway employé accepted withoutquestion the information that the lady the foreign gentleman wasexpecting was his sister. Such a statement to the English mind wouldhave suggested the hero of an innocent elopement, but as regards familyrelations the French are curiously Eastern, and then it may be saidagain that the American's stern, pre-occupied face and cold manner werenot those which to a Parisian could suggest a happy lover. 

As he walked up and down with long, even strides, his arms laden withpapers and novels, it would have been difficult for anyone seeing himthere to suppose that Vanderlyn was starting on anything but a solitaryjourney. Indeed, for the moment he felt horribly alone. He began toexperience the need of human companionship. She had said she would bethere at seven; it was now a quarter-past the hour. In ten minutes thetrain would be gone----

Then came to him a thought which made him unconsciously clench hishands. Was it not possible, nay, even likely, that Margaret Pargeter, like many another woman before her, had found her courage fail her atthe last moment--that Heaven, stooping to her feeble virtue, had come tosave her in spite of herself?

Vanderlyn's steps unconsciously quickened. They bore him on and on, tothe extreme end of the platform. He stood there a moment staring outinto the red-starred darkness: how could he have ever thought thatMargaret Pargeter--his timid, scrupulous little Peggy--would embark onso high and dangerous an adventure?

There had been a moment, during that springtime of passion which returnsno more, when Vanderlyn had for a wild instant hoped that he would beable to take her away from the life in which he had felt her to beplaying the terrible rôle of an innocent and yet degraded victim. 

Even to an old-fashioned American the word divorce does not carry withit the odious significance it bears to the most careless Englishwoman. He had envisaged a short scandal, and then his and Peggy's marriage. Buthe had been compelled, almost at once, to recognise that with her anysuch solution was impossible. 

As to another alternative? True, there are women--he and MargaretPargeter had known many such--who regard what they call love as alegitimate distraction; to them the ignoble, often sordid, shiftsinvolved in the pursuit of a secret intrigue are as the salt of life;but this solution of their tragic problem would have been--or soVanderlyn would have sworn till four days ago--impossible to the womanhe loved, and this had added one more stone to the pedestal on which shehad been placed by him from the day they had first met. 

And yet? Yet so inconsequent and so illogical is our poor human nature, that she, the virtuous woman, had completely lacked the courage to breakwith the man who loved her, even in those, the early friable days oftheir passion. Nay more, whatever Peggy might believe, Vanderlyn waswell aware that the good, knowing all, would have called them wicked, even if the wicked, equally well-informed, would have sneered at them asabsurdly good. 

 * * * * *

Vanderlyn wheeled abruptly round. He looked at the huge station clock, and began walking quickly back, down the now peopled platform to theticket barrier. As he did so his eyes and mind, trained to note all thatwas happening round him, together with an unconscious longing to escapefrom the one absorbing thought, made him focus those of hisfellow-travellers who stood about him. They consisted for the most partof provincial men of business, and of young officers in uniform, eachand all eager to prolong to the uttermost their golden moments in Paris;more than one was engaged in taking an affectionate, deeply sentimentalfarewell from a feminine companion who bore about her those significantsigns--the terribly pathetic, battered air of wear and tear--which setapart, in our sane workaday world, the human plaything. 

The sight of these leave-takings made the American's face flush darkly;it was hateful to him to think that Mrs. Pargeter must suffer, even fora few moments, the proximity of such women--of such men. He felt aviolent shrinking from the thought that any one of these gay, carelessyoung Frenchmen might conceivably know Peggy--if only by sight--as thecharming, "elegant" wife of Tom Pargeter, the well-known sportsman whohad done France the signal honour of establishing his racing stable atChantilly instead of at Newmarket! The thought that such an encounterwas within the bounds of possibility made Vanderlyn for a moment almosthope that the woman for whom he was waiting would not come after all. 

He cursed himself for a fool. Why had he not thought of driving her outto one of the smaller stations on the line whence they could havestarted, if not unseen, then unobserved?

But soon the slowly-growing suspicion that she, after all, was perhapsnot coming to-night, brought with it an agonising pang. Very suddenlythere occurred to him the horrible possibility of material accident. Mrs. Pargeter was not used even to innocent adventure; she lived theguarded, sheltered existence which belongs of right to those women whosematerial good fortune all their less fortunate sisters envy. The dangersof the Paris streets rose up before Vanderlyn's excited imagination, hideous, formidable. .. . 

Then, quite suddenly, Margaret Pargeter herself stood before him, smiling a little tremulously. 

She was wearing a grey, rather austere tailor-made gown; it gave agirlish turn to her slender figure, and on her fair hair was poised thelittle boat-shaped hat and long silvery gauze veil which have become ina sense the uniform of a well-dressed Parisienne on her travels. 

As he looked at her, standing there by his side, Vanderlyn realised howinstinctively tender, how passionately protective, was his love for her;and again there came over him the doubt, the questioning, as to why shewas doing this. .. . 

"Messieurs, mesdames, en voiture, s'il vous plaît! En voiture, s'il vousplaît!"

He put his hand on her shoulder--her head was very little higher thanhis heart--and guided her to the railway carriage which had been keptfor them. 

II. 

And now Laurence Vanderlyn and Margaret Pargeter were speeding throughthe night, completely and physically alone as they had never been duringthe years of their long acquaintanceship; and, as he sat there, with thewoman he had loved so long and so faithfully wholly in his power, therecame over Vanderlyn a sense of fierce triumph and conquest. 

The train had not started to time. There had come a sound of eagertalking on the platform, and Vanderlyn, filled with a vagueapprehension, had leaned out of the window and with some difficultyascertained the cause of the delay. The guard in charge of the train, the man, that is, whom he had feed so well in order to secure privacy, had strained his hand in lifting a weight, and another employé had hadto take his place. 

But at last the few moments of waiting--to Vanderlyn they had seemed anhour--had come to an end. At last the train began to move, that slow andyet relentless movement which is one of the few things in our modernworld which spell finality. To the man and the woman it was the startingof the train which indicated to them both that the die was indeed cast. 

Vanderlyn looked at his companion. She was gazing up at him with astrange expression of gladness, of relief, on her face. The long yearsof restraint and measured coldness seemed to have vanished, receded intonothingness. 

She held out her ringless hand and clasped his, and a moment later theywere sitting hand in hand, like two children, side by side. With arather awkward movement he slipped on her finger a thin gold ring--hisdead mother's wedding-ring, --but still she said nothing. Her head wasturned away, and she was staring out of the window, as if fascinated bythe flying lights. He knew rather than saw that her eyes were shining, her cheeks pink with excitement; then she took off her hat, and he toldhimself that her fair hair gleaming against the grey-brown furnishingsof the railway carriage looked like a golden aureole. 

Suddenly Laurence Vanderlyn pressed the hand he was holding to his lips, dropped it, and then stood up. He pulled the blue silk shade over theelectric light globe which hung in the centre of the carriage; glancedthrough one of the two tiny glazed apertures giving a view of the nextcompartment; then he sat down by her, and in the half darkness gatheredher into his arms. 

"Dear, " he said, in a voice that sounded strange and muffled even tohimself, "do you remember the passage at Bonnington?"

As he held her, she had been looking up into his face, but now, hearinghis question, she flushed deeply, and her head fell forward on hisbreast. Their minds, their hearts, were travelling back to the moment, to the trifling episode, which had revealed to each the other's love. 

It had happened ten years ago, at a time when Tom Pargeter, desiring toplay the rôle of country gentleman, had taken for awhile a certainhistoric country house. There, he and his young wife had broughttogether a great Christmas house-party composed of the odd, ill-assortedsocial elements which gather at the call of the wealthy host who hasexchanged old friends for new acquaintances. Peggy's own people, old-fashioned country gentry, were regarded by Pargeter as hopelesslydowdy and "out of it, " so none of them had been invited. With LaurenceVanderlyn alone had the young mistress of the house had any link ofmutual interests or sympathies; but of flirtation, as that protean wordwas understood by those about them, there had been none. 

Then, on Christmas Eve, had come the playing of childish games, thoughno children were present, for the two-year-old child of the host andhostess was safe in bed. It was in the chances of one of these gamesthat Laurence Vanderlyn had for a moment caught Margaret Pargeter in hisarms----

He had released her almost at once, but not before they had exchangedthe long probing look which had told to each their own as well as theother's secret. Till that moment they had been strangers--from thatmoment they were lovers, but lovers allowing themselves none of love'slicense, and very soon Vanderlyn had taught himself to be content withall that Peggy's conscience allowed her to think possible. 

She had never known--how could she have known?--what his acquiescencehad cost him. Now and again, during the long years, they had beencompelled to discuss the abnormal relation which Peggy called theirfriendship; together they had trembled at the fragile basis on whichwhat most human beings would have considered their meagre happiness wasfounded. 

More than once she had touched him to the heart by asserting that shefelt sure that the inscrutable Providence in which she had retained analmost childish faith, could never be so cruel as to deprive her of theonly source of happiness, apart from her little son, which had come herway; and so, although their intimacy had become closer, the links whichbound them not only remained platonic, but, as is the way with suchlinks, tended to become more platonic as the time went on. 

Even now, as he sat there with the woman he loved wholly in his power, lying in his arms with her face pressed to his breast, Vanderlyn's mindwas in a maze of doubt as to what was to be their relationship duringthe coming days. Even now he was not sure as to what Peggy had meantwhen she had seemed to plead, more with herself than with him, for ashort space of such happiness as during their long intimacy they hadnever enjoyed. 

All his acquaintances, including his official chief, would have told youthat Laurence Vanderlyn was an accomplished man of the world, and anacute student of human nature, but now, to-night, he owned himself atfault. Only one thing was quite clear; he told himself that the thoughtof again taking up the thread of what had been so unnatural an existencewas hateful--impossible. 

Perhaps the woman felt the man's obscure moment of recoil; she gentlywithdrew herself from his arms. "I'm tired, " she said, ratherplaintively, "the train sways so, Laurence. I wonder if I could liedown----"

He heaped up the cushions, spread out the large rug, which he hadpurchased that day, and which formed their only luggage, for everythingelse, by her wish, had been sent on the day before. 

Very tenderly he wrapped the folds of the rug round her. Then he kneltby her side; and at once she put out her arms, and pulled his head downclose to hers; a moment later her soft lips were laid against his cheek. He remembered, with a retrospective pang, the ache at his heart withwhich the sight of her caresses to her child had always filled him. 

"Peggy, " he whispered, "tell me, my beloved, why are you being so goodto me--now?"

She made no direct answer to the question. Instead, she moved away alittle, and raised herself on her elbow; her blue eyes, filled with astrange solemnity, rested on his moved face. 

"Listen, " she said, "I want to tell you something, Laurence. I want youto know that I understand how--how angelic you have been to me all theseyears. Ever since we first knew one another, you have given meeverything--everything in exchange for nothing. "

And as he shook his head, she continued, "Yes, for nothing! For a longtime I tried to persuade myself that this was not so--I tried to believethat you were as contented as I had taught myself to be. I firstrealised what a hindrance"--she hesitated for a moment, and then saidthe two words--"our friendship--must have proved to you four yearsago, --when you might have gone to St. Petersburg. "

As Vanderlyn allowed an exclamation of surprise to escape him, she wenton, "Yes, Laurence, you have never known that I knew of that chance--ofthat offer. Adèle de Léra heard of it, and told me; she begged me then, oh! so earnestly, to give you up--to let you go. "

"It was no business of hers, " he muttered, "I never thought for a momentof accepting----"

"--But you would have done so if you had never known me, if we had notbeen friends?" She looked up at him, hoping, longing, for a quick wordof denial. 

But Vanderlyn said no such word. Instead, he fell manlike into the trapshe had perhaps unwittingly laid for him. 

"If I had never known you?" he repeated, "why, Peggy--dearest--my wholelife would have been different if I had never known you! Do you reallythink that I should have been here in Paris, doing what I am nowdoing--or rather doing nothing--if we had never met?"

The honest, unmeditated answer made her wince, but she went on, as ifshe had not heard it--

"As you know, I did not take Adèle's advice, but I have never forgotten, Laurence, some of the things she said. "

A look which crossed his face caused her to redden, and add hastily, "She's not given to speaking of you--of us; indeed she's not! She neveragain alluded to the matter; but the other day when I was persuadingher, --she required a good deal of persuasion, Laurence--to consent to myplan, I reminded her of all she had said four years ago. "

"And what was it that she did say four years ago?" asked Vanderlyn witha touch of angry curiosity; "as Madame de Léra is a Frenchwoman, and apious Catholic, I presume she tried to make you believe that ourfriendship was wrong, and could only lead to one thing----" he stoppedabruptly. 

"No, " said Peggy, quietly, "she did not think then that our friendshipwould lead to--to this; she thought in some ways better of me than Ideserve. But she did tell me that I was taking a great responsibilityon myself, and that if anything happened--for instance, if Idied----" Vanderlyn again made a restless, almost a contemptuousmovement--"I should have been the cause of your wasting the best years ofyour life; I should have broken and spoilt your career, and all--all fornothing. "

"Nothing?" exclaimed Vanderlyn passionately. "Ah! Peggy, do not saythat. You know, you must know, that our love--I will not call itfriendship, " he went on resolutely, "for this one week let no such falseword be uttered between us--you must know, I say, that our love has beeneverything to me! Till I met you, my life was empty, miserable; since Imet you it has been filled, satisfied, and that even if I have receivedwhat Madame de Léra dares to call--nothing!"

He spoke with a fervour, a conviction, which to the woman over whom hewas now leaning brought exquisite solace. At last he was speaking as shehad longed to hear him speak. 

"You don't know, " she whispered brokenly, "how happy you make me bysaying this to-night, Laurence. I have sometimes wondered lately if youcared for me as much as you used to care?"

Vanderlyn's dark face contracted with pain; he was no Don Juan, learnedin the byways of a woman's heart. Then, almost roughly, he caught her tohim, and she, looking up, saw a strange glowing look come over hisface--a look which was, even to her, an all-sufficing answer, for ittold of the baffled longing, of the abnegation, and, even now, of therestraint and selflessness, of the man who loved her. 

"Did you really think that, Peggy?" was all he said; then, more slowly, as the arms about her relaxed their hold, "Why, my dear, you've alwaysbeen--you are--my life. "

A sudden sob, a cry of joy broke from her. She sat up, and with a quickpassionate movement flung herself on his breast; slowly she raised herface to his: "I love you, " she whispered, "Laurence, I love you!"

His lips trembled for a moment on her closed eyelids, then sought andfound her soft, quivering mouth. But even then Vanderlyn's love wasreverent, restrained in its expression, yet none the less, perhaps themore, a binding sacrament. 

At last, "Why did you subject us, " he said, huskily, "to such an ordeal?What has made you give way--now? How can you dream of going back, aftera week, to our old life?" But even as he asked the searching questions, he laid her back gently on her improvised couch. 

Woman-like she did not give him a direct response, then, quite suddenly, she yielded him the key to the mystery. 

"Because, Laurence, the last time I was in England, something happenedwhich altered my outlook on life. "

She uttered the words with strange solemnity, but Vanderlyn's ears wereholden; true, he heard her answer to his question, but the word conveyedlittle or nothing to him. 

He was still riding the whirlwind of his own poignant emotion; he wastelling himself, with voiceless and yet most binding oaths, that never, never should the woman whose heart had just beaten against his heart, whose lips had just trembled beneath his lips, go back to act the partof even the nominal wife to Tom Pargeter. He would consent to anycondition imposed by her, as long as they could be together; surely evenshe would understand, if not now, then later, that there are certainmoments which can never be obliterated or treated as if they have notbeen. .. . 

It was with difficulty--with a feeling that he was falling from highheaven to earth--that he forced himself to listen to her next words. 

"As you know, I stayed, when in England, with Sophy Pargeter----"

Again she looked up at him, as if hesitating what she should say. 

"Sophy Pargeter?" he repeated the name mechanically, but with a suddenwincing. 

Vanderlyn had always disliked, with a rather absurd, unreasoningdislike, Peggy's plain-featured, rough-tongued sister-in-law. To himSophy Pargeter had ever been a grotesque example of the deep--theyalmost appear racial--differences which may, and so often do, existbetween different members of a family whose material prosperity is dueto successful commerce. 

The vast inherited wealth which had made of Tom Pargeter a selfish, pleasure-loving, unmoral human being, had transformed his sister Sophyinto a woman oppressed by the belief that it was her duty to spend thegreater part of her considerable income in what she believed to be goodworks. She regarded with grim disapproval her brother's way of life, andshe condemned even his innocent pleasures; she had, however, always beenfond of Peggy. Laurence Vanderlyn, himself the outcome and product of anold Puritan New England and Dutch stock, was well aware of the horrorand amazement with which Miss Pargeter would regard Peggy's presentaction. 

"Well, Laurence, the day that I arrived there, I mean at Sophy'shouse, I felt very ill. I suppose the journey had tired me, for Ifainted----" Again she hesitated, as if not knowing how to frame hernext sentence. 

"Sophy was horribly frightened. She would send for her doctor, andthough he said there was nothing much the matter with me, he insistedthat I ought to see another man--a specialist. "

Peggy looked up with an anxious expression in her blue eyes--but againVanderlyn's ears and eyes were holden. He habitually felt for themedical profession the unreasoning dislike, almost the contempt, yourperfectly healthy human being, living in an ailing world, often--in factalmost always--does feel for those who play the rôle of the old augursin our modern life. Mrs. Pargeter had never been a strong woman; she wasoften ill, often in the doctor's hands. So it was that Vanderlyn did notrealise the deep import of her next words----

"Sophy went with me to London--she was really very kind about it all, and you would have liked her better, Laurence, if you had seen her thatday. The specialist did all the usual things, then he told me to go onmuch as I had been doing, and to avoid any sudden shock orexcitement--in fact he said almost exactly what that dear old Frenchdoctor said to me a year ago----"

She waited a moment: "Then, Laurence, the next day, when Sophy thought Ihad got over the journey to London, " Peggy smiled at him a littlewhimsical smile, "she told me that she thought I ought to know--it washer duty to tell me--that I had heart disease, and that, though I shouldprobably live a long time, it was possible I might die at anymoment----"

A sudden wrath filled the dark, sensitive face of the man bending overher. 

"What nonsense!" he exclaimed with angry decision. "What will thedoctors say next, I wonder! I wish to God you would make up your mind, Peggy, once and for all, never to see a doctor again! I beg of you, ifonly for my sake, to promise me that you will not go again to any doctortill I give you permission to do so. You don't know what I went throughfive years ago when one of those charlatans declared that he would notanswer for the consequences if you didn't winter South, and--and Tomwould not let you go!"

He paused, and then added more gently, "And yet nothing happened--youwere none the worse for spending that winter in cold Leicestershire!"

"Yes, that's true, " she answered submissively, "I will make you thepromise you ask, Laurence. I daresay I have been foolish in going sooften to doctors; I don't know that they have ever done me much good. "

His eyes, having now become quite accustomed to the dim light, suddenlyseemed to see in her face a slight change; a look of fatigue anddepression had crept over her mouth. He told himself with a pang thatafter all she was a delicate, fragile human being--or was it the blueshade which threw a strange pallor on the face he was scrutinising withsuch deep, wistful tenderness?

He bent over her and tucked the rug round her feet. 

"Turn round and try to go to sleep, " he whispered. "It's a long, longjourney by this train. I'll wake you in good time before we get toDorgival. "

She turned, as he told her, obediently, and then, acting on a suddenimpulse, she pulled him down once more to her, and kissed him as a childmight have done. "Good night, " he said, "good night, mylove--'enchanting, noble little Peggy!'"

A smile lit up her face radiantly. It was a long, long time sinceVanderlyn had last uttered the charming lines first quoted by him veryearly in their acquaintance, when he had seen her among her own people, one of a band of joyous English boys and girls celebrating a familyfestival--the golden wedding of her grandparents. Peggy had beendelicately, deliciously kind to the shy, proud American youth, whom anintroduction from valued friends had suddenly made free of an Englishfamily clan. 

That had been a year before her marriage to Tom Pargeter, the inheritorof a patent dye process which had made him master of one of thosefantastic fortunes which impress the imagination of even theunimaginative. That the young millionaire should deign to throw thematrimonial handkerchief at their little Peggy had seemed to her familya piece of magic good fortune. She could bring him good old blood, andcertain great social connections, in exchange for limitless wealth; ithad been regarded as an ideal marriage. 

More than four years went by before Vanderlyn again saw Peggy, and thenhe had found her changed--transformed from a merry, light-hearted girlinto a pensive, reserved woman. During the interval he had often thoughtof her as one thinks of a delightful playfellow, but he only came tolove her after their second meeting--when he had seen, at first withhonest dismay, and then with shame-faced gladness, how utterly ill-matedshe and Tom Pargeter were the one to the other. 

 * * * * *

Vanderlyn made his way over to the other side of the railway carriage;there he sat down, and, crossing his arms on his breast, after a veryfew moments he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

III. 

Vanderlyn woke with a start. He looked round, bewildered for a moment. Then his brain cleared, and he felt vexed with himself, a little ashamedof having slept. It seemed to him that he had been asleep hours. Howodious it would have been if at the first stopping place of thedemi-rapide some stranger had entered the railway carriage! Instead ofsleeping, he ought to have remained watching over that still figurewhich lay so quietly resting on the other side of the carriage. 

He stood up. How tired he felt, how strangely depressed and uneasy! Butthat, after all, was natural, for his last four nights had been wakeful, his last four days full of anxiety and suspense. 

He turned and looked out of the window, wondering where they were, howfar they had gone; the train was travelling very quickly, he could seewhite tree-trunks rushing past him in the moonlight. 

Then Vanderlyn took out his watch. Surely it must be later than nineo'clock? He moved from the window and held the dial close under the bluesilk shade of the lamp. Why, it was only three minutes to nine! Thenthey hadn't yet passed Dorgival; in fact they wouldn't be there foranother twenty minutes, for this train took two hours to do what thequick expresses accomplished in an hour and a quarter. 

It was good to know that he had only slept for quite a little while. Thedesire for sleep had now left him completely, and he began to feelexcited, restless, and intensely, glowingly alive. .. . 

The curious depression and unease which had possessed him a few momentsago lifted from his soul; the future was once more full of infinitepossibilities. 

His darling little Peggy! What strange beings women were! With whatself-contempt, with what scorpions would he have lashed himself, had hebeen the one to evolve this plan of this furtive flight, to be followedat the end of a week by a return to the life to which he now looked backwith shame as well as distaste! And yet she, the woman he loved, hadevolved it, and thought out every detail of the scheme--before tellinghim of what was in her mind. .. 

As to the future? Vanderlyn threw back his head; nay, nay, there couldbe no going back to what had been. Even Peggy would see that. She hadherself broken down the barrier erected with such care; and soon, verysoon she would--she must--see that such breaches can never be repairedor treated as if they had not been made. What had happened, what washappening, to-night, was, in very truth the beginning, for them both, ofa new life. 

So Laurence Vanderlyn swore to himself, taking many silent vows ofchivalrous devotion to the woman who, for love of him, had broken, notonly with life-long traditions of honour, but also with a conscience hehad known to be so delicately scrupulous. 

 * * * * *

From where he was standing in the middle of the swaying carriage, something in the way in which his sleeping companion's head was lyingsuddenly aroused Vanderlyn's quick, keen attention. Putting out a handto steady himself against the back of the compartment, he bentdown--indifferent to the risk of rousing the still figure. 

Then, with a rapid movement, he straightened himself; his face had gonegrey--expressionless. He pushed back the blue shade off the globe oflight, careless of the bright rays which suddenly illumined every cornerof the railway carriage. .. . 

With an instinctive gesture, Vanderlyn covered his eyes and shut out theblinding light. He pressed his fingers on his eyeballs; every fibre ofhis body, every quivering nerve was in revolt: for he realised, eventhen, that there was no room for hope, for doubt, --he knew that what hehad looked upon in the dim light was death. 

With an awful pang he now understood why Peggy had made him that strangepathetic offer. How blind he had been! The English doctor, the man onwhom he had poured such careless scorn, had been right, --terribly right. 

At last he uncovered his eyes, and forced himself to gaze upon what laybefore him----

Margaret Pargeter had died in her sleep. She was lying exactly asVanderlyn had left her, still folded closely in the rug he had placed sotenderly about her. But a terrible change had come over the delicatefeatures--the sightless eyes were wide open, the lips had fallen apart;his glance, travelling down, saw that her left hand, the hand wheregleamed his mother's wedding ring, was slightly clenched. 

Again Vanderlyn passed his hand over his eyes. He stared about him witha touch of helpless bewilderment, but he could do nothing, even if therehad been anything to do; it was she who had insisted that they should beunencumbered by any luggage. 

He crouched down, and, with an involuntary inward shrinking, took up thechilly, heavy hand and tried to warm it against his cheek; then heshivered, his teeth chattered, with a groan of which the sound echoedstrangely in his ears he hid his face in the folds of her grey clothgown----For a few moments the extent of his calamity blotted outeverything. 

And then, as Vanderlyn lay there, there suddenly opened before him a wayof escape from his intolerable agony and sense of loss, and he welcomedit with eager relief. He raised his head, and began to think intently. How inexplicable that he had not thought of this--the only way--at once!It was so simple and so easy; he saw himself flinging wide open thenarrow carriage door, and then, with that still figure clasped in hisarms, stepping out into the rushing darkness. .. . 

His mind was now working with incredible quickness and clearness. Howgood it was to know that here, in France, there need be--there wouldbe--no public scandal! In England or America the supposed suicide of twosuch people as were Margaret Pargeter and himself could not hope to beconcealed; not so in France. 

Here, as Vanderlyn knew well, there was every chance that such a lovetragedy as the one of which he and Mrs. Pargeter would be supposed tohave been hero and heroine, would remain hidden--hidden, that is, fromeveryone except those closely connected with her and with himself. Hisown chief, the American Ambassador, would be informed of what hadhappened, but he was a wise old man, there was no fear of indiscretionin that quarter; but--yes, he, Vanderlyn, must face that fact--TomPargeter would know the truth. 

Vanderlyn's hidden abhorrence of _the other man_, --of the man whosefriend he had perforce compelled himself to be for so long, rose in agreat flood. 

Tom Pargeter? The selfish, mean-souled, dull-witted human being, whosehuge fortune, coupled with the masculine virtues of physical courage andstraightness in matters of sport, made him not only popular but in asmall way a personage! Pargeter, no doubt, would suffer, especially inhis self-esteem; on the other hand, he, the husband, would feel that sohad his own conduct, his coarse infidelity, his careless neglect of hiswife, been fully condoned. 

With a choking feeling of sharp pain, Vanderlyn suddenly remembered thatwhat Tom Pargeter knew now, poor Peggy's son would some day have toknow. For awhile, no doubt, the boy would be kept in merciful ignoranceof the tragedy, but then, when the lad was growing into manhood, someblundering fool, or more likely some well-intentioned woman, probablyhis aunt, Sophy Pargeter, would feel it her duty to smirch for him hismother's memory. .. . 

Nay, that could not, that must never, be! Vanderlyn's head fell forwardon his breast; there came back, wrapping him as in a shroud, the awfulfeeling of desolation, of life-long loss, --for he now knew, withinexorable knowledge, what the future held for him. 

It must be his fate to live, not die; he must live in order to safeguardthe honour of Margaret Pargeter, the beloved woman who had trusted himwholly, not only in this, which was to have been their supremeadventure, but during the whole of their long, almost wordless love. Itwas for her sake that, she dead, he must go on living; for her sake hemust make what now, at this moment, seemed to be a sacrifice almostbeyond his power, for reason told him that he must leave her, and assoon as possible, lying there dead--alone. 

With tender, absent fingers he smoothed out the woollen folds to whichhis face had been pressed; he slipped from her finger the thin goldring, and placed it once more where he had always worn it from the dayof his mother's death till an hour ago. 

Then he stood up, and turned deliberately away. 

There came the loud wailing whistle which told that the train wasnearing a station. He leaned out of the window; the lights of a townwere flashing past, and he grimly told himself that there was no time tolose. 

Vanderlyn again bent down; the instinctive repugnance of the living forthe dead suddenly left him. His darling little Peggy! How could he bearto leave her there--alone? If he and she had been what they ought tohave been--husband and wife--even then, he felt that never would he haveleft her to the neglect, to the forgetfulness to which other men leavetheir beloved dead. There rose before him the memory of one of the mostmoving of the world's great pictures, Goya's painting of mad Queen Joanbearing about with her the unburied body of Philip. 

He turned that which had been Margaret Pargeter so that her face wouldbe completely hidden from anyone opening the door and looking into thecarriage. 

Yet, even as he was doing this, Vanderlyn kept a sharp watch and wardover his own nerves. His had now become the mental attitude of a man whodesires to save the living woman whom he loves from some great physicaldanger. Blessing his own foresight in providing the large rug which hehad folded about her so tenderly an hour ago, he pulled up a fold of ittill it covered, and completely concealed, her head. Should a travellernow enter the carriage he would see nothing but a woman apparentlyplunged in deep slumber. 

Again Vanderlyn glanced, with far more scrutinising eyes than he haddone when first entering the train, through the two glazed apertureswhich commanded a view of the next carriage; it was, as he knew well, empty. 

He turned once more the silk shade over the lamp, jammed his hat downover his eyes, set his lips together, and, averting his eyes from whathe was leaving, opened the railway carriage door. .. . 

The train was slowing down; a few hundred yards ahead lay the station. Vanderlyn stepped to one side of the footboard, and waited till the doorthrough which he had just passed swung to; then he turned the handle, securing it firmly. 

With soft, swift steps, he walked past the window of the now darkenedcarriage and slipped into the next empty, brightly-lighted compartment. There came over him a strong temptation to look through the littleapertures giving into the darkened carriage he had just left, but it wasa temptation which he resisted. Instead, he leant out of the window, asdoes a traveller who is nearing his destination. 

Soon there floated up to him the shouting of "Dorgival! Cinq minutesd'arrêt!" and when the train at last stopped, there arose the joyouschatter which attends every arrival in a French station. 

Vanderlyn waited for a few moments; then he stepped down from thecarriage, and began walking quietly down the platform. With intenserelief he remembered that the guard of the train whom he had feed sowell, and who must have noticed him with Peggy, had been left behind inParis. 

Having passed the end compartment and guard's van he stood for awhilestaring down at the permanent way, counting the rails which gleamed inthe half darkness. He measured with his eyes the distance whichseparated the platform on which he was standing from that whence thenext train back to Paris must start. 

There was very little risk either of accident or detection, but it washis duty to minimise whatever risk there was. He dropped down gentlyonto the permanent way, and stood for a moment in the deep shadow castby the rear of the train he had just left; then, cautiously advancing, he looked both up and down the line, and made his way to the other side. 

The platform on which he now found himself was deserted, for the wholelife of the station was still centred round the train which had justarrived; but as he started across the rails Vanderlyn became possessedwith a feeling of acute, almost intolerable, suspense. He longed with afeverish longing to see the demi-rapide glide out into the darkness. Hetold himself he had been a fool to suppose that anyone could enter thedarkened carriage where the dead woman lay without at once discoveringthe truth, --and he began asking himself what he would do were the awfuldiscovery made, and were the fact that he had been her travellingcompanion suddenly revealed or suspected. 

But Laurence Vanderlyn was not subjected to so dread an ordeal; at lastthere floated to where he was standing the welcome cry of "En voiture!En voiture, s'il vous plaît!" The dark serpentine mass on which thelonely man's eyes were fixed shivered as though it were a sentient beingwaking to life, and slowly the train began to move. 

Vanderlyn started walking up the platform, and for awhile he kept instep with the slowly gliding carriages; then they swept by more quickly, a swift procession of gleaming lights. .. . 

As at last the red disc melted into the night, he gave a muffled groanof anguish, for mingling with his sense of intense relief, came that ofeternal, irreparable loss. 

Ironic fortune was kind to Vanderlyn that night; his return ticket fromfar-away Orange, though only issued in Paris some two hours before, wasallowed to pass unchallenged; and a couple of francs bestowed on acommunicative employé drew the welcome news that a southern expressbound for Paris was about to stop at Dorgival. 

IV. 

It was only eleven o'clock when Vanderlyn found himself once more in theGare de Lyon. He walked quickly out of the great station which washenceforth to hold for him such intimately tender and poignant memories;and then, instead of taking a cab, he made his way on foot down to thelonely Seine-side quays. 

There, leaning over and staring down into the swift black waters of theriver, he planned out his drab immediate future. 

In one sense the way was clear before him, --he must of course go onexactly as before; show himself, that is, in his usual haunts; take themoderate part he had hitherto taken in what he felt to be the drearyround of so-called pleasures with which Paris was now seething. Thatmust be his task--his easy and yet intolerable task--during the nextweek or ten days, until the disappearance of Margaret Pargeter becamefirst suspected, and then discovered. 

But before that was likely to happen many long days would certainly goby, for, --as is so often the case when a man and woman have become, insecret, everything to one another, Laurence Vanderlyn and Mrs. Pargeterhad gradually detached themselves from all those whom they had oncecalled their friends, and even Peggy had had no intimate who would missa daily, or even a weekly, letter. 

Indeed, it was just possible, so Vanderlyn, resting his arms on thestone parapet, now told himself, that the first part of his ordeal mightlast as long as a fortnight, that is, till Tom Pargeter came back fromEngland. 

There was of course yet another possibility; it was conceivable thateverything would not fall out as they, or rather Peggy, had imagined. Pargeter, for instance, might return sooner; and, if he did so, he wouldcertainly require his wife's immediate presence in Paris, for themillionaire was one of those men who hate to be alone even in theirspare moments. Also more than his wife's company, Pargeter valued herpresence as part of what the French so excellently style the _décor_ ofhis life; she was his thing, for which he had paid a good price; some ofhis friends, the sycophants with which he loved to be surrounded, wouldhave said that he had paid for her very dearly. 

It was very unlikely, however, that Tom Pargeter would return to Parisbefore he was expected to do so. For many years past he had spent thefirst fortnight of each May at Newmarket; and, as is the curious customof his kind, he seldom varied the order of his rather monotonouspleasures. 

But stay--Vanderlyn suddenly remembered Madame de Léra, that is the onehuman being who had been in Peggy's confidence. She was a real andterrible point of danger--or rather she might at any moment become so. It was with her, at the de Léra villa in the little village ofMarly-le-Roi, that Mrs. Pargeter was, even now, supposed to be staying. This being so, he, Vanderlyn, must make it his business to see Madame deLéra at the first possible moment. Together they would have to concoctsome kind of possible story--he shuddered with repugnance at thethought. 

Long before Peggy's confidences in the train, the American diplomatisthad been well aware that Adèle de Léra disapproved of his closefriendship with Mrs. Pargeter; and she had never lent herself to any ofthose innocent complicities with which even good women are often soready to help those of their friends who are most foolish--whom perhapsthey know to be more tempted--than themselves. 

The one thing of paramount importance, so Vanderlyn suddenly remindedhimself, was that no one--not even Madame de Léra--should ever know thathe and Margaret Pargeter had left Paris that night, together. How couldthis fact be best concealed, and concealed for ever?

To the unspoken question came swift answer. It flashed on the manlingering on the solitary river-side quay, that even now, to-night, itwas not too late for him to establish the most effectual of alibis. Bytaking a fiacre and bribing the man to drive quickly he could be back inhis rooms in the Rue de Rivoli, dressed, and at his club, beforemidnight. Fool that he was to have wasted even a quarter of an hour!

Vanderlyn struck sharply across the dimly-lighted thoroughfare; hestarted walking down one of the narrow streets which connect the riverquays with commercial Paris. A few moments later, having picked up acab, he was driving rapidly westward, down the broad, still seethingBoulevard du Temple, and, as he suddenly became aware with a sharp pangat his heart, past the entrance to the quiet mediæval square, where, only four short days ago, he and Peggy walking side by side, had heldthe conversation which was to prove pregnant of so much short-lived joy, and of such long-lived pain. 

Like so many modern Americans, to whom every material manifestation ofwealth has become distasteful, Laurence Vanderlyn had chosen to pitchhis Paris tent on the top floor of one of those eighteenth-centuryhouses which, if lacking such conveniences as electric light and lifts, can command in their place the stately charm and spaciousness of whichthe modern Parisian architect seems to have lost the secret. His_appartement_ consisted of a few large, airy, low-pitched rooms, ofwhich the stone balconies overlooked the Tuileries gardens, while from acorner window of his sitting-room Vanderlyn could obtain what was invery truth a bird's-eye view of the vast Place de la Concorde. 

Very soon after his arrival in Paris the diplomatist had the goodfortune to come across a couple of French servants, a husband and wife, who exactly suited his simple and yet fastidious requirements. They werehonest, thrifty, clean, and their only fault--that of chattering to oneanother like magpies--was to Vanderlyn an agreeable proof that they leda life quite independent of his own. Never had he been more glad to knowthat this was so than to-night, for they greeted his return home withthe easy indifference, and real pleasure, very unlike the surfacerespect and ill-concealed resentment with which a master's unexpectedappearance would have been received by a couple of more cosmopolitanservitors. 

With nerves strung up to their highest tension, forcing himself only tothink of the present, Vanderlyn put on his evening clothes. It was stillwanting some minutes to midnight when he left the Rue de Rivoli for theBoulevard de la Madeleine. A few moments later he was at the door of theclub where he was sure of finding, even at this time of night, plenty offriends and acquaintances who would be able to testify, in the veryunlikely event of its being desirable that they should do so, to thefact that he had been there that evening. 

 * * * * *

L'Union is the most interesting, as it is in a certain sense the mostexclusive, of Paris clubs. Founded in memory of the hospitality shown bythe English gentry to the French émigrées, during the Revolution, this, the most old-fashioned of Paris clubs, impales the Royal arms of France, that is, the old fleur-de-lys, with those of England. 

At all times L'Union has been in a special sense a resort ofdiplomatists, and Vanderlyn spent there a great deal of his spare time. The American was popular among his French fellow-members, to whom hisexcellent French and his unobtrusive good breeding made him an agreeablecompanion. There could have been no greater proof of how he was regardedthere than the fact that, thanks to his efforts, Tom Pargeter had beenelected to the club. True, the millionaire-sportsman did not oftendarken the threshold of the stately old club-house, but he was none theless exceedingly proud of his membership of L'Union, for it gave him anadded standing in the cosmopolitan world in which he had early electedto spend his life. Perhaps it was fortunate that he had so little usefor a club where gambling games are not allowed to be played--where, indeed, as the younger members are apt to complain, dominoes take theplace of baccarat!

The tall Irish footman whose special duty it was to wait on the foreignmembers, came forward as Vanderlyn walked into the hall. "Mr. Pargeterhas been asking for you, sir; he's in the card-room. "

Vanderlyn felt a curious sensation sweep over him. That which he hadthought so improbable as to be scarcely worth consideration had come topass. Pargeter had not gone to England that night. He was here, inParis, at L'Union, asking for him. In a few moments they would be faceto face. 

As Vanderlyn walked up the broad staircase, he asked himself, with afeeling of agonising uncertainty, whether it was in any way possiblethat Peggy's husband had found out, even suspected, anything of theirplan. But no! Reason told him that such a thing was quite inconceivable. No compromising word had been written by the one to the other, and everydetail had been planned and carried out in such a way as to makediscovery or betrayal impossible. 

But to-night reason had very little to say to Laurence Vanderlyn, andhis strongly drawn face set in hard lines as he sauntered through nowfast thinning rooms, for the habitué of L'Union generally seeks hisquiet home across the Seine about twelve. 

As he returned the various greetings which came to him from right andleft, --for a French club has about it none of the repressive etiquettewhich governs similar institutions in England and America, --thediplomatist felt as doubtless feels any imaginative man who for thefirst time goes under fire; what he experienced was not so much dread asa wonder how he was likely to bear himself during this now imminentmeeting with Peggy's husband. 

Suddenly Vanderlyn caught sight of Pargeter, and that some momentsbefore he himself was seen by him. The millionaire was standing watchinga game of whist, and he looked as he generally looked when at L'Union, that is, bored and ill at ease, but otherwise much as usual. 

Tom Pargeter was a short man, and though he was over forty, his fairhair, fat face, and neat, small features gave him an almost boyish lookof youth. He had one most unusual physical peculiarity, which caused himto be remembered by strangers: this peculiarity consisted in the factthat one of his eyes was green and the other blue. His manners werethose of a boy, of a boorish lad, rather than of a man; his vocabularywas oddly limited, and yet he seldom used the correct word, for hedelighted in verbal aliases. 

Seeing Pargeter there before him, Laurence Vanderlyn, for the first timein his life, learned what so many men and women learn very early intheir lives, --what it is to be afraid of a person, who, howeverdespicable, is, or may become, your tyrant. 

Hitherto his relations with Peggy's husband, though nothing to be proudof, had brought with them nothing of conscious shame. Nay more, LaurenceVanderlyn, in that long past of which now nothing remained, had tried tosee what was best in a character which, if fashioned meanly, was notwholly bad. But now, to-night, he felt that he despised, hated, and, what was to him, far worse, feared the human being towards whom he wasadvancing with apparently eager steps. 

Suddenly the eyes of the two men met, but Pargeter was far toopre-occupied with himself and his own concerns to notice anythingstrained or unusual in Vanderlyn's face. All he saw was that here atlast was the man he wanted to see; his sulky face lightened, and hewalked forward with hand outstretched. 

"Hullo! Grid, " he cried, "so here you are at last! You see I've notgone? There came a wire from the boy; he's hurt his knee-cap!"

Vanderlyn murmured an exclamation of concern; as they met he had wheeledround, thus avoiding the other's hand. 

"Nothing much, " went on Pargeter quickly, "but of course Peggy will bewild to go to him, so I thought I'd wait and take her to-morrow, eh!what?"

Side by side they began walking down the long reception-room. Vanderlynwas telling himself, with a feeling of sore, dull pain, that this wasthe first time, the very first time, that he had ever known Tom Pargetershow a kindly touch of consideration for his wife. But then thisconcerned the boy, of whom the father, in his careless way, was fond andproud; their child had always remained a link, if a slight link, betweenTom and Peggy. 

"It was just too late to get a wire through to her, " went on Pargeter, fretfully, "I mean to that God-forsaken place where she's staying withMadame de Léra; but I've arranged for her to be wired to early in themorning. If I'd been half sharp I'd have sent the trolley for her----"

"The trolley?" repeated Vanderlyn, mechanically. 

"The motor--the motor, man! But it never occurred to me to do it till itwas too late. "

"Would you like me to go out to-morrow morning and fetch her back?"asked Vanderlyn slowly. 

"I wish you would!" cried the other eagerly, "then I should be sure ofher coming back in time for us to start by the twelve-twenty train. Whenshall I send the trolley for you?"

"I'll go by train, " said Vanderlyn shortly. "Madame de Léra's villa isat Marly-le-Roi, isn't it?"

"Yes, haven't you ever been there?"

Vanderlyn looked at Pargeter. "No, " he said very deliberately, "Iscarcely know Madame de Léra. "

"How odd, " said Pargeter indifferently. "Peggy's always with her, andyou and Peggy are such pals. "

"One doesn't always care for one's friends' friends, " said Vanderlyndryly. He longed to shake the other off, but Pargeter clung closely tohis side. Each put on the hat and light coat handed to him; and, whenonce out on the boulevard, Pargeter slipped his hand confidingly throughthe other's arm. 

His touch burnt Vanderlyn. 

"By the way, Grid, I've forgotten to tell you why I wanted to see youto-night. I'd be so much obliged if you would go down to Chantilly atthe end of the week and see how that new josser's getting on. You mightdrop me a line if everything doesn't seem all right. "

Vanderlyn murmured a word of assent. This, then, was the reason whyPargeter had come to L'Union that night, --simply in order to askVanderlyn to keep an eye on his new trainer! To save himself, too, thetrouble of writing a letter, for Tom Pargeter was one of those modernsavers--and users--of time who prefer to conduct their correspondenceentirely by telegram. 

They were now close to the Place de l'Opéra. "Let's go on to 'TheWash, '" said Pargeter suddenly. 

The eyes of the two men became focussed on the long line of brilliantlylit up windows of a flat overlooking the square. Here were theheadquarters of a Paris club, bearing the name of America's first andgreatest President, which had earned for itself the nickname of "MonacoJunior. "

Tom Pargeter was no gambler, --your immensely wealthy man rarely is, --butit gave him pleasure to watch the primitive emotions which gamblinggenerally brings to the human surface, and so he spent at what he called"The Wash" a good many of his idle hours. 

"Let's turn in here for a minute, " he said, eagerly, "Florac was holdingthe bank two hours ago; let's go and see if he's still at it. "

Vanderlyn made a movement of recoil; he murmured something about havingto be up early the next morning, but Pargeter, with the easy selfishnesswhich so often looks like good-nature, pressed him to go in. "It's quiteearly, " he urged again, and his companion was in no state of body ormind to resist even the slight pressure of another's will. 

 * * * * *

The brightly lighted rooms of "Monaco Junior" were full of colour, sound, and movement; the atmosphere was in almost ludicrous contrast tothat of the decorous Union. The evening was only just beginning, therooms were full, and Pargeter was greeted with boisterous warmth; here, if nowhere else, his money made him king. 

He led the way to the card-room which, with its crowd of men surroundingeach of the tables, was very evidently the heart of the club. "Do lookat Florac!" he murmured to Vanderlyn. "When I left here a couple ofhours ago, he was winning a bit, but I expect he's losing now. I alwayslike to watch him play--he's such a bad loser!"

The two men had threaded their way close to the baccarat table, and nowthey formed the centre of a group who were throwing furtive glances atthe banker, a pale lean Frenchman of the narrow-jowled, Spanish type sooften repeated in members of the old noblesse. 

The Marquis de Florac was "somebody, " to use the expressive Frenchphrase, --a member of that small Parisian circle of which each individualis known by reputation to every provincial bourgeois, and to everyforeign reader of French social news. 

There had been a time when de Florac had set the fashion, and that notonly in waistcoats and walking-sticks. He was a fine swordsman, and waseven now in some request as second at fashionable duels. None knew morecertainly than he every punctilio of those unwritten laws which governaffairs of honour, and, had he been born to even a quarter of thefortune of Tom Pargeter, his record would probably have remainedunstained. Unfortunately for him this had not been the case; he had soonrun through the moderate fortune left him by his father, and he hadruined by his own folly, and his one vice of gambling, any chance thatmight have remained to him of a good marriage. 

Even in the Faubourg St. Germain, --loyal to its black sheep as are everthe aristocracies of the old world, --Florac was now looked at askance;and in the world of the boulevards strange stories were told as to theexpedients by which he now made--it could not be called earned--aliving. The playing of those games which can best be described asrequiring a minimum of judgment and a maximum of luck was apparently theonly occupation remaining to the Marquis de Florac, and when in funds hewas often to be found in the card-rooms of "Monaco Junior. "

"He's losing now, " whispered Pargeter. "I should think he's near the endof his tether, eh? Funny how money goes from hand to hand! I don'tsuppose Florac knows that it's _my_ money he's chucking away!"

"Your money?" repeated Vanderlyn with listless surprise, "d'you mean tosay that you've been lending Florac money?" He looked, with a pity inwhich there entered a vague fellow-feeling, at the mask-like face of theman against whom the luck seemed to be going so dead. 

"I'm not quite a fool!" exclaimed Pargeter, piqued at the suggestion. "All the same, Grid, it _is_ my money, or a little bit of it at anyrate!"

An English acquaintance of the two men came up to them. "The French area wonderful people, " he said rather crossly, "everybody says that Floracis ruined, --that he's living on ten francs a day allowed him by a kindgrandmother--and yet since I have been standing here he's dropped, atleast so I've calculated, not far short of four hundred pounds!"

A grin came over Pargeter's small neat face, and lit up his odd, different-coloured eyes. "'_Cherchez la femme_, '" he observed, affectingan atrocious English accent; and then he repeated, as if he were himselfthe inventor, the patentee, of the admirable aphorism, "'_Cherchez lafemme!_' That's what you have got to do in the case of Florac, and of agood many other Frenchmen of his kind, I fancy!"

"I'm going home now, Pargeter, " said Vanderlyn with sudden, harshdecision. "If you really wish me to go out to Marly-le-Roi in one ofyour cars to-morrow morning, will you please give orders for it to beround at my place at nine o'clock?"

V. 

From what seemed an infinite distance, Vanderlyn awoke the next morningto hear the suave voice of his servant, Poulain, murmuring in his ear, "The automobile is here to take Monsieur for a drive in the country. Idid not wish to wake Monsieur, but the chauffeur declared that Monsieurdesired the automobile to be here at nine. "

Poulain's master sat up in bed and stared at Poulain. Then suddenly heremembered everything that had happened to him the evening before. In aflash he even lived once more the wakeful hours of the night which hadhad so awful a beginning; only at four o'clock had he found sleep. 

"Yes?" he said. Then again, "Yes, Poulain. I wished to start at nineo'clock. Say that I shall be down in a quarter of an hour. "

"And then, while Monsieur is dressing, my wife will be preparing hislittle breakfast--unless, indeed, Monsieur would rather wait, and havehis little breakfast in bed?"

"No, " said Vanderlyn, quickly, "I shall not have time to wait forcoffee. "

 * * * * *

The keen morning air, the swift easy motion of the large car revivedVanderlyn and steadied his nerves. He elected to sit in front by theside of Pargeter's silent English chauffeur. At this early hour theParis streets were comparatively clear, and a few moments brought themto the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne. There, half way down was TomPargeter's splendid villa; as they passed it in a flash, Vanderlynaverted his head. To his morbid fancy it suddenly assumed the aspect ofa great marble tomb. 

The car swung on through the now deserted Bois; soon it was rushing upthe steep countrified streets of St. Cloud, and then, settling down to ahigh speed, they found themselves in the broad silent alleys of thosesplendid royal woods which form so noble a girdle about western Paris. They sped through sunlit avenues of fresh green foliage, past old houseswhich had seen the splendid pageant of Louis the Fifteenth and his Courtsweep by on their way to Marly-le-Roi, and so till they gained the loftyridge which dominates the wide valley of the Seine. 

Suddenly the chauffeur turned to Vanderlyn, and spoke for the firsttime: "Would you like to slow down a bit, sir? Mrs. Pargeter generallystops the car here to have a look at the view. "

"No, " said Vanderlyn hoarsely, "we haven't time to-day; we've got to getback to Paris in time for Mr. And Mrs. Pargeter to catch, if possible, the twelve-twenty o'clock train. "

He leant back--a feeling of horror and self-contempt possessed him. Hislife was now one long lie; even when speaking to a servant, he wascompelled to imply what he knew to be untrue. 

They ran down into the quaint little town which has scarcely alteredsince the days when Madame du Barry was dragged hence, screaming andwringing her hands, to Paris, to prison, and to the guillotine. Vanderlyn's distraught imagination saw something sinister in theprofound quietude of the place; it was full of shuttered villas, forthrough the winter each village in the neighbourhood of Parishibernates, those whom the peasants style les bourgeois still regardingcountry life as essentially a summer pastime. 

They now came to a high blank wall, broken by an iron gate. "This is thehouse, sir, " said the chauffeur abruptly. 

Vanderlyn jumped out, and rang a primitive bell; he waited some minutesand then rang again. At last he heard the sound of steps hurrying alonga gravel path; and the gate was opened by an old woman. 

"You have come to the wrong house, " she said curtly, "this is Madame deLéra's villa. " Then, as she caught sight of the Pargeters' chauffeur, amore amiable look stole over her wizened face, --"Pardon, perhapsMonsieur has brought a letter from Madame Pargeter?" She wiped her handon her apron and held it out. 

Vanderlyn remained silent a moment; he knew that now had come the momentfor him to utter an exclamation of surprise, to explain that he hadthought to find Mrs. Pargeter here, --but his soul revolted from the lie. 

"Yes, I have come to see Madame de Léra, " he said in a low voice. "Kindly give her my card, and ask her if she will be good enough toreceive me?"

The old woman turned on her heel; she led Vanderlyn into the silenthouse, and showed him into a large sitting-room where the furniture wasstill swathed in the rough sheeting with which the careful Frenchhousewife drapes her household goods when leaving them for the winter. 

"I will light the fire, " said the servant, apologetically; "Madame doesnot use this room when we are here alone. "

"I am quite warm, " said Vanderlyn quickly. "Besides, I shall only behere a very few moments. "

The woman gave him a curious, rather suspicious look, and went to findher mistress. 

Vanderlyn, in spite of the words he had just uttered, suddenly toldhimself that, he felt cold--cold and dizzy. He moved over to the window. It overhung a wooded precipice, below which sparkled the Seine, --thatsame river into whose dark depths he had gazed so despairingly the nightbefore. Here, looking at the sunlit panorama of wood, water, and skyspread out before him, Peggy must often have stood. For the first timesince the terrible moment when he had watched the train bearing her deadbody disappear into the darkness, Vanderlyn thought of her as living; heseemed to feel her soft, warm presence in this place which she hadloved, and where she had spent peaceful, happy hours. 

He heard the door open and shut, and, turning round, found himself faceto face with the Frenchwoman whom he knew to have been MargaretPargeter's devoted friend. Although he was well aware that Madame deLéra had never liked or trusted him, he, on his side, had always admiredand appreciated her serenity and simple dignity of demeanour. As shecame forward, clad in the austere dress of a French widow, he noted theexpression of constraint, of surprise, on her worn face. 

"Mr. Vanderlyn?" she said, interrogatively; and, as she waited for anexplanation of the American's presence, surprise gave way to a look ofgreat sternness and severity, almost of dislike. Nay more, Madame deLéra's attitude was instinct with protest--the protest of an honestwoman drawn unwillingly into what she feels to be an atmosphere ofuntruth and intrigue. She was telling herself that she owed the fact ofVanderlyn's visit to some slight hitch in the plan in which she had beenpersuaded to play the part of an accomplice; she felt that MargaretPargeter ought not to have subjected her to an interview with her lover. 

Vanderlyn reddened. He felt suddenly angered. Madame de Léra's mannerwas insulting, not only to him, but--but to Mrs. Pargeter, to his poordead love. Any thought of telling Madame de Léra the truth, or even partof the truth, left him. 

"You must forgive my intrusion, " he said, coldly; "I have come with amessage from Mr. Pargeter. He believes his wife to be here, and hewishes her to be informed that her son, little Jasper, has had anaccident. When the news arrived last night, it was too late totelegraph, and so he asked me to come here this morning in his motor inorder to bring Mrs. Pargeter back to Paris. He proposes that she shouldaccompany him to England to-day by the twelve o'clock train. "

An expression of deep bewilderment crossed Madame de Léra's face. Forthe first time since she had glanced at Vanderlyn, she became aware thatshe was in the presence of a man who was suffering under some keenstress of feeling. She became oppressed with a great misgiving. What didhis presence here this morning, his strange unreal words, signify? Whatwas the inward meaning of this sinister comedy? It was of course clearthat the secret elopement had not taken place. But then, where _was_Mrs. Pargeter?

She cast a long searching look at Laurence Vanderlyn. The American'sface had become expressionless. He seemed tired, like a man who had notslept, but the look she thought she had surprised, --that look telling ofthe suppression of deep feeling, of hidden anguish, --had gone. The factthat she did not know how much Vanderlyn knew she knew added to Madamede Léra's perplexity. She was determined at all costs not to betray herfriend. 

"I regret to inform you, " she said, quietly, "that Mrs. Pargeter is nothere. It is true that I was expecting her to come yesterday. But shedisappointed me--she did not come. Does no one know where she is?" Shethrew as great an emphasis as was possible in the impassive Frenchlanguage into her question. 

Vanderlyn avoided her perplexed, questioning glance. "Since yesterdayevening, " he answered, "all trace of Margaret Pargeter has been lost. She seems to have left her house about six o'clock, and then to havedisappeared--utterly. The servants believed, " he added, after a pause, "that she was coming straight to you; she had, it seems, taken someluggage to the station the day before, and seen personally to itsdespatch. "

There was a pause; neither spoke for some moments, and Madame de Léranoticed that Vanderlyn had not asked her if Peggy's luggage had arrivedat her house. 

"Then, Monsieur, it is surely clear, " she exclaimed at last, "that therehas been an accident, a terrible accident to our poor friend! I mean onher way to--to the station. But doubtless that thought has also occurredto you--if not to Mr. Pargeter--and you have already made all necessaryenquiries?"

Vanderlyn, from being pale, flushed deeply. "No, " he said, "I am afraidnothing of the kind has been done--yet. You see, Pargeter believes herto be here. "

The words "But you--_you_ knew she was not here!" trembled on Madame deLéra's lips, but she did not utter them. She felt as if she were walkingamid quicksands; she told herself that there was far more danger insaying a word too much than a word too little. 

"I regret, " she said, "that you have made a useless journey, Mr. Vanderlyn. I must request you to go back and tell Mr. Pargeter that hiswife is not here, and I beg, I entreat, you to inform the police thatshe is missing! For all we know, "--she looked at him with indignantseverity, --"she may be lying ill, mortally injured, in one of ourterrible Paris hospitals!"

As he made no assent to her imploring words, a look of anger came intoMadame de Léra's eyes. 

"I will ask you to allow me to return with you to Paris, " she said, quickly. "I cannot rest inactive here in the face of the possibility, nay, the probability, I have indicated. If you, Mr. Vanderlyn, do notfeel justified in making the enquiries I have suggested, no such scrupleneed restrain _me_. "

She turned away, making no effort to mask her displeasure, almost hercontempt, for the man who seemed to be so little moved by the mysteriousdisappearance of the woman he loved. 

A few moments later Madame de Léra came back dressed for the drive. Asthey walked through into the hall of the villa, she suddenly turned, andwith a strange gentleness asked her silent companion a question, "Mr. Vanderlyn, you look very tired; have you had any breakfast?"

He looked at her without answering, and she repeated her words. 

"Yes, " said Vanderlyn, --"that is, no, I have not. I was up late lastnight, --there was no time this morning, " he spoke hurriedly, confusedly;the sudden kindness in her tone had brought scalding tears to his eyes, and he felt a nervous fear that he was about to break down. Madame deLéra took his arm; she opened a door and pushed him through into thekitchen, just now the one bright, warm, cheerful room in the house. 

"My good Catherine, " she said, "give this gentleman a cup ofcoffee--quickly!"

The presence of the old servant steadied Vanderlyn's nerves; with amuttered word of thanks he drank what was put before him, and then theywent out, across the dewy lawn, to the gate. 

Vanderlyn placed his companion in the back of the car, and himself tookthe vacant seat next to Pargeter's phlegmatic chauffeur, for he wishedto remain silent. Madame de Léra's alteration of manner, her gentleness, her implied sympathy, frightened him. He would rather have endured hercold air of protest, of dislike. 

And yet, as they drove swiftly back to Paris, taking, however, ratherlonger on the return journey, for the country roads were now full ofanimation and movement, Vanderlyn felt himself leaning, as against awall, on Madame de Léra's strong upright nature. She might dislike, disapprove, even despise him, --but in this matter they would be one intheir desire to shield Peggy's fair name. He would have given much to beable to still her evident anxiety, but that course was, so he felt, forbidden to him; he had no right to share with another human being theburden of his knowledge, of his awful grief. With a pang he remindedhimself that even Madame de Léra's state of suspense was preferable to aknowledge of the truth. 

At last they turned into the Bois de Boulogne, rushing through the leafyroads at a high speed; a few moments more would see them in thebeautiful avenue where stood, isolated from its neighbours, the VillaPargeter, instinct with flamboyant luxury and that perfection onlyachieved by the lavish use of money. 

Tom Pargeter had a supreme contempt for the careless way in which theFrench millionaires of his acquaintance conducted their lives. He likedto get the full value of his money, and was proud of boasting to hisintimates that he kept the people who worked for him up to the top mark. So it was that the sanded garden, even now blazing with flowers, whichsurrounded the square marble villa, and separated it from the carriageroad and tan gallop, looked like a set piece, a vivid bit of scenepainting, in the bright morning sunlight. 

When they came within sight of the wrought bronze gates of the villa, Madame de Léra stood up in the car and leant over the front. She touchedVanderlyn on the shoulder. "Then if we find that Mr. Pargeter is stillwithout any knowledge of his wife, I am to say that I know nothing--thatI was expecting her yesterday evening, and that she never arrived?"

"Yes, " he answered, "that is, Madame, what I expect to hear you say. Itwill then be for Mr. Pargeter to take what steps he judges proper. "

As the powerful car swung through the gates, Vanderlyn saw that thefront-door was wide open, and that the English butler was waiting toreceive them; when the man saw that his mistress was not in the car, alook of perplexity came over his impassive face. 

"Mr. Pargeter has been awaiting you, sir, for the last half hour, " hesaid, "he is very anxious to catch the twelve o'clock express. Theluggage has already gone on to the station. Mr. Pargeter wished the carto wait, --but--but is it to wait, sir?" he asked, helplessly. 

"Yes, " said Vanderlyn, shortly, "the car had better wait. Where is Mr. Pargeter?"

"He's not down yet, sir; he is breakfasting in his dressing-room. Allthe arrangements were made last night, but I will let him know you havearrived, sir. " He looked doubtfully at Madame de Léra, too well trainedto ask any question, and yet sufficiently human not to be able toconceal his astonishment at Mrs. Pargeter's non-appearance. Then, preceding the two visitors upstairs, he led them through the suite oflarge reception-rooms into a small octagon boudoir which was habituallyused by Margaret Pargeter as her sitting-room. 

There he left them, and, standing amid surroundings which all spoke tothem, to the woman, of her friend, to the man of his love, --from thehooded chair where Peggy generally sat to the little writing-table whereshe had written so many notes to them both, --Madame de Léra and LaurenceVanderlyn felt overwhelmed with a common feeling of shame, of guilt. Insilence they waited for Tom Pargeter, avoiding each other's eyes; andthe Frenchwoman's fine austere face grew rigid--this was the first timein her long life that she had been connected with an intrigue. She felthumiliated, horrified at the part she now found herself compelled toplay. 

In spite of its costly luxury, and its wonderful beauty ofdecoration, --an exquisite Nattier was let into a panel above thefireplace, and a row of eighteenth-century pastels hung on the lightgrey walls, --the octagon apartment lacked the restful charm whichbelongs to many a shabby little sitting-room. The architect of the villahad sacrificed everything to the great reception-rooms, and in theboudoir were far too many doors. 

One of these, which Vanderlyn had never noticed before, was now suddenlyflung open, and, outlined against a narrow winding staircase, stood afigure which appeared at once grotesque and menacing to the man andwoman who stood staring at the unexpected apparition. It was TomPargeter, clad in a bright yellow dressing-gown, and holding a fork inhis left hand. 

"I say, Peggy, look sharp, --there's no time to be lost! I told Plimmerto pack some of your things--not that there's any reason why you shouldcome if you don't want to--for there's nothing much the matter with theboy, and he'll probably get well all the quicker if you----"

The speaker suddenly broke short the quick sentences; he stared roundthe little room, and then, catching sight of Madame de Léra who had beenpartly concealed by a screen, "Damn!" he said, and turning, scamperedheavily up the staircase, leaving the door behind him open. 

Vanderlyn and his companion looked at each other uncomfortably. Madamede Léra was not perhaps quite so shocked, either by Pargeter'sappearance or by his one exclamation apparently addressed to herself, asthe punctilious American supposed her to be. She knew no word of theEnglish language, and in her heart regarded all foreigners asbarbarians. 

They waited, --it seemed a long, long time, but as a matter of fact itwas but a very few minutes after Pargeter's abrupt entrance and exit, when his short quick steps were heard resounding down the long suite ofreception-rooms. As he walked into the boudoir, the master of thehouse--this time dressed in a suit of the large checks he generallywore--bowed awkwardly to Madame de Léra, and then went over and shut thedoor giving access to the winding staircase, that which in his hurry hehad omitted to close behind him. Then, and not till then, he turned toLaurence Vanderlyn. 

"Well?" he said, "what's happened to Peggy? I'm told she's not here. Isshe ill?"

"Peggy never arrived at Marly-le-Roi, " said Vanderlyn. 

To himself his very voice seemed changed, his words charged withterrible significance; but to Pargeter, the answer given to his questionsounded disagreeably indifferent and matter-of-fact. 

"Never arrived?" he echoed. "Where is she then? You don't mean to sayshe's lost?"

"Madame de Léra, " said Vanderlyn, still in the same quiet, emotionlessvoice, "thinks that she's met with an accident, "--he looked imploringlyat the Frenchwoman; surely it was time that she should come to his help. "I am telling Mr. Pargeter, " he said to her in French, "that you fearshe has met with an accident"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, eagerly turning to Pargeter, "how can it beotherwise, Monsieur?" She hesitated, looked at Vanderlyn, then quicklywithdrew her eyes from his face. His eyes were full of agony. She feltas if she had peered through a secret window of another's soul. 

"That is why I have come back to Paris, " she went on, addressing Peggy'shusband, "for I feel that not a moment should be lost in makingenquiries. There are certain places where they take those who meet withaccidents in our streets--accidents, alas! more and more frequent everyday. Let us start at once and make enquiries. "

Tom Pargeter heard her out with obvious impatience. But still hisvarnish of good breeding so far lasted that he muttered a word or two ofgratitude for the trouble she had taken. Then he turned to LaurenceVanderlyn. 

"Surely _you_ don't think anything has happened to her, Grid?" he asked, nervously. "Now I come to think of it, she was a fool not to take one ofthe cars. Then we should have had none of this worry. I've always saidthe Paris cabs weren't safe. What d'ye think we had better do? We can'tstart out and make a round of all the hospitals--the idea's absurd!"Waiting a moment, he added dismally, "It's clear I can't take thattwelve-twenty train. "

He walked over to one of the windows, and drummed with his fingers onthe pane. 

Although Madame de Léra did not understand a word he said, Pargeter'sattitude was eloquent of how he had taken the astounding news, and shelooked at him with angry perplexity and pain. She said something in alow voice to Vanderlyn; as a result he walked up to Pargeter and touchedhim on the shoulder. 

"Tom, " he said, "I'm afraid something ought to be done, and donequickly. Madame de Léra suggests that we go to the Prefecture of Police;every serious accident is, of course, always reported there at once. "

The other turned--"All right, " he said, sullenly, "just as you like! ButI bet you anything that after we have taken all that trouble, we shallcome back to find Peggy, or news of her, here. You don't know her aswell as I do! I don't believe she's had an accident; I daresay you'lllaugh at me, Grid, but all I can say is that I don't _feel_ she's had anaccident. Take my word for it, old man, there's nothing to be frightenedabout. Why, you look quite pale!"

There came the distant sound of a telephone bell. "There!" he cried, "Iexpect that _is_ Peggy, or news of her. What a bore it is having threetelephones in a house!" He left the room, and a moment later they heardhim shouting to his butler. 

Vanderlyn turned to Madame de Léra. "He doesn't believe that Mrs. Pargeter has had an accident, " he said, quietly, "you must not judge himtoo harshly. " He added, after a moment, "I think you must know, Madamede Léra, that Mrs. Pargeter's husband has always been lacking inimagination. "

Her only answer was a shrug of her shoulders. 

VI. 

Once a year the newspapers of each great capital publish, among otherstatistics, a record of the disappearances which have occurred in theirmidst during the preceding twelve months. These disappearances are notcounted by tens or by hundreds, but by thousands; and what is true ofevery great city is in a very special sense true of Paris, the humanCloaca Maxima of the world. There, the sudden vanishing, theobliteration as it were, of a human being--especially of aforeigner--arouses comparatively little surprise or interest among thosewhose weary duty it is to try and find what has become of the lost one. 

To Madame de Léra, --even to Tom Pargeter, --the beginning of what was tobe so singular and perplexing a quest had about it somethingawe-inspiring and absorbing. So it was that during the few minutes whichelapsed between their leaving the Avenue du Bois de Bologne and theirreaching the ancient building where the Paris Police still has itsheadquarters, not a word was spoken by either of the two ill-assortedcompanions who sat together in the rear of the car, for Vanderlyn, theonly one of the three who knew where the Prefecture of Police issituated, had been placed next to the chauffeur in order that he mightdirect him as to the way thither. 

By such men as Tom Pargeter and their like, the possibility of materialmisfortune attacking themselves and those who form what may be calledtheir appanage, is never envisaged; and therefore, when such misfortunecomes to them, as it does sooner or later to all human beings, the grimguest's presence is never accepted without an amazed sense of struggleand revolt. 

The news of the accident to his little son had angered Pargeter, andmade him feel ill-used, but that it should have been followed by thismystery concerning his wife's whereabouts seemed to add insult toinjury. So it was an ill-tempered, rather than an anxious man who joinedVanderlyn on the worn steps of the huge frowning building wherein ishoused that which remains the most permanent and the most awe-inspiringof Parisian institutions. 

As they passed through the great portals Tom Pargeter smiled, for thefirst time; "We shall soon have news of her, Grid, " he murmured, confidently. 

Vanderlyn winced as he nodded a dubious assent. 

But at first everything went ill with them. Pargeter insisted on sendingfor the police interpreter and stating his business in English; then, irritated at the man's lack of comprehension, he broke out--toVanderlyn's surprise--into voluble French. But as the two foreignerswere sent from room to room in the old-fashioned, evil-smellingbuilding, as endless forms were placed before them to be filled up, itbecame increasingly clear that the disappearance of a human being, especially of an Englishwoman, did not strike the listless employees asbeing particularly remarkable. 

The more angry Pargeter grew and the more violent in his language, themore politely, listlessly, indifferent became those to whom he addressedhis questions and indignant complaints. 

The cosmopolitan millionaire-sportsman, accustomed to receive a constantstream of adulation and consideration from all those with whom lifebrought him in contact, was first amazed, and then angered, by the lackof interest shown in him and in his affairs at the Prefecture of Police. 

Then, to his surprise and only half-concealed mortification, a referencemade by Laurence Vanderlyn to an incident which had taken place the yearbefore--that is, to the disappearance of an American citizen--followedby the production of the diplomatist's card, brought about a magicchange. 

Immediately the two friends were introduced into the presence of animportant official; and a moment later Tom Pargeter's outraged dignityand sense of importance were soothed by an outpouring of respectfulsympathy, while in an incredibly short time the full particulars ofevery accident which had occurred in the streets of Paris during thelast twenty-four hours were laid before the anxious husband. But it soonbecame clear that in none of these had Mrs. Pargeter been concerned. 

The official left the room a moment; then he returned with a colleague. 

This man, the chief of the detective force, proceeded with considerabletact to examine and cross-examine both Pargeter and Vanderlyn concerningthe way in which Mrs. Pargeter had spent the earlier part of theprevious day--that is, the day on which she had disappeared. 

The man's manner--that of scenting a secret, of suspecting that more laybehind the matter than was admitted by the husband and friend of thewoman they were seeking--produced a disagreeable impression onVanderlyn. For the first time he felt himself faced by a vague, but nonethe less real, danger, and the feeling braced him. 

"Then Monsieur did not see this lady yesterday at all?"

"No, " said Vanderlyn, shortly; "the last time I saw Mrs. Pargeter in herhouse was the day before yesterday, when I called on her about fiveo'clock. "

"Monsieur is not related to the lady, " asked the detective quietly. 

"No, " said Vanderlyn again. "But I am an old friend of both Mr. And Mrs. Pargeter, and that is why he asked me to accompany him here to-day. "

"Then when and how did you yourself first learn of Madame Pargeter'sdisappearance?" asked the other suddenly. 

Vanderlyn hesitated; for a moment his tired brain refused to act--whenwas he supposed to have heard of Peggy's disappearance? He lookedhelplessly at Pargeter, then said suddenly, "I met my friend at L'Unionlast night. "

"Then you already knew of Madame's disappearance last night?" said theofficial eagerly. 

"No! no!" exclaimed Pargeter crossly. "Of course we didn't know then! Wedidn't know till just now--that is, till this morning, when Mr. Vanderlyn went out to Madame de Léra's villa to fetch my wife. It wasMadame de Léra who told us that she had never arrived at Marly-le-Roi. She disappeared yesterday afternoon, but we did not know it till thismorning. "

"May I ask you, gentlemen, to wait for a moment while I make certainenquiries?" observed the detective politely. "You have not yet beenshown our daily report concerning the stations of Paris--is it notpossible that Madame Pargeter may have met with some accident at theGare St. Lazare, if, as I understand, she was going to her friend bytrain, and not by automobile?"

Pargeter seemed struck by the notion. He turned to Vanderlyn. "I can'tmake out, " he said in a puzzled tone, "why Peggy thought of going toMarly-le-Roi by train when she might so easily have gone in her newmotor. "

"Peggy gave her man a week's holiday, " said Vanderlyn shortly. "Youknow, Tom, that he wanted to go to his own home, somewhere in Normandy. "

"Yes, yes. Of course! But still she might have gone out in the bigcar--I wasn't using it yesterday. "

The detective came back at the end of what seemed to both Vanderlyn andPargeter a very long quarter of an hour. 

"No incident of any sort took place last night at the Gare St. Lazare, "he said briefly. "We shall now institute a thorough enquiry among ouragents; every police-station in Paris shall be notified of the fact thatMadame Pargeter is missing; and I shall almost certainly be able to sendyou some kind of news of her by four o'clock this afternoon. In any caseyou can trust us to do our best. Will Monsieur be returning to theAvenue du Bois"--he addressed Vanderlyn, "or is Monsieur going to hisown flat in the Rue de Rivoli?"

Vanderlyn looked up quickly. His private address was not printed on thecard he had shown; still it was reasonable enough that this man shouldhave looked up his own as well as Pargeter's address and should havewished to verify their statements as far as was possible. 

"Of course, Grid, you will come home with me!" exclaimed Pargeterfretfully. 

"Then, Messieurs, I will send any news I get straight to the Avenue duBois de Boulogne. "

As they walked through the long corridors, it became clear that whateveranxiety Pargeter had suffered had dropped off him, for the moment, likea cloak. "I shouldn't be surprised if I can get off to-night after all, "he said cheerfully, "you heard what he said? This afternoon we shallcertainly have news of her. "

Then, as they emerged into the hall, and he caught sight of hismotor-car and of its occupant, "For God's sake, Grid, " he said frowning, "let's get rid of that old woman! There she sits, staring like a bird ofprey; it's enough to give one the hump! Ask her if she would like us todrive her to her Paris house. If she wants to go back to the country, I'll send her in Peggy's Limousine--oh! I forgot, that's not available, is it? Never mind, she can go on in this car. Say we'll send her news assoon as we hear any!"

But Vanderlyn soon ascertained that Madame de Léra had no wish to goback to Marly-le-Roi. She accepted his brief account of what hadoccurred at the Prefecture of Police without comment, and, refusingPargeter's offer to drive her to her house in the Faubourg St. Germain, asked only to be set down at the nearest telegraph-station. 

 * * * * *

Dreary hours followed--hours later remembered with special horror andshrinking by Laurence Vanderlyn. They were spent by the two ill-assortedfriends in Tom Pargeter's own room on the ground-floor of the villa. 

It was a long, well-lighted room, lined with the huge, splendidlydecorative posters, signed Chéret and Mucha, which were then just beingcollected by those who admired that type of flamboyant art. In thisapartment Peggy, as Vanderlyn was well aware, never put her feet, for itwas there that her husband received his trainer and his sportingfriends. Here also was his own private telephone. 

Lunch was brought to them on a tray, and at two o'clock the butler camewith the information that several police officials were in the houseinterrogating the servants. Far from annoying Pargeter, the fact seemedto afford him some gratification, for it proved that he was after allquite as important a personage as he believed himself to be. He gaveorders that the men were to be liberally supplied with drink. 

An hour later came a high official from the Préfecture. He was takenupstairs and shown into the drawing-room, and it was there that Pargeterjoined him, leaving Vanderlyn for the first time alone. 

The American lay back in the rocking-chair in which he had been sittingforward listening to the other's unconnected talk. What a relief, whatan immense sense of sobbing relief--came over his weary senses, aye, even his weary limbs! He put away the thought, the anguished query, asto how long this awful ordeal was likely to endure. For the moment itwas everything to be alone. He closed his smarting eyes. 

Suddenly the telephone bell rang, violently. Vanderlyn got up slowly;stumblingly he walked across the room and took up the receiver. Awoman's voice asked in French:

"Has Mr. Pargeter left Paris?"

"No, " said Vanderlyn shortly. "Mr. Pargeter is still in Paris. "

"Is it a friend of Mr. Pargeter who is speaking?"

There was a long pause, --then, "Yes, " said Vanderlyn. 

"Will you, Monsieur, kindly inform your friend, " said the voice, shakingwith a ripple of light laughter, "that Mademoiselle de la Tour de Neslehas something very urgent to say to him?"

"Mr. Pargeter is engaged, but I will give him any message. "

"May I ask you, Monsieur, to have the gracious amiability to inform Mr. Pargeter that Mademoiselle de la Tour de Nesle will be expecting him atfive o'clock this afternoon. She understood he was leaving Parisyesterday, but someone told her that he had been seen driving in hisauto on the grand boulevards this morning. "

A few moments later Pargeter burst into the room. 

"They declare that Peggy must have left Paris!" he exclaimed. "I thoughtas much, " he went on, angrily. "I felt certain that she was only hiding!Of course I didn't like to say so--at first, " and, as Vanderlyn remainedsilent, he came and flung himself in a chair close to the other man. 

"You see, Grid, "--his voice unconsciously lowered, --"she played me thattrick once before--years ago! It was a regular bit of bad luck, the sortof thing that only seems to happen to me; other men escape. A woman cameto our house, --we were living in London then, --an old friend of minewith whom I'd stupidly mixed up again; she brought a child with her, asqualling brat two or three months older than Jasper--Of course thechild had nothing to do with me, but she said he had, and Peggy believedher!" he looked for sympathy to the silent man opposite to whom he wasnow sitting. 

"Did you ever hear of this before?" he asked suspiciously, "did Peggyever tell you about it?"

"No, " said Vanderlyn. "This is the first time I have heard anything ofit. How long did she stay away?" he forced himself to add, loathinghimself the while: "Did she disappear like this--I mean, as she has donethis time?"

"Well, not exactly, " said Pargeter reluctantly, "for one thing she tookJasper and his nurse with her, but not her maid. They went off to heraunt, --the aunt who brought her up, you know, --but for two days I hadn'ta notion where she was! Then one of her brothers came to see me. It wasall made as damned unpleasant for me as possible, but they were ofcourse determined that she should come back to me, and so she did--afterabout a week. But she was never nice to me again, " he added, moodily, "not that she ever was really nice to me before we married. It was theaunt who hunted me----"

"Is there any special reason why Peggy should have thought of going awaylike that--now?" asked Vanderlyn in a strained voice. 

"No, " exclaimed Pargeter, "of course there isn't! I've always been niceto her, as you know well, Grid, --much nicer, I mean, than most men wouldhave been to a wife who was so--so--" he sought intently for a word, "sosuperior and--and unsympathetic. But lately I have been specially niceto her, for my sister, Sophy, you know, had written me a long screed, --Ididn't bother to read it right through, making out that Peggy's heartwas weak, and that I ought to be very careful about her. The very day Igot the letter I went out and bought her that grey Limousine Lady Prynnewas so keen I should take off her hands! Peggy always had everything shewanted, " he repeated; "I didn't have a penny with her, but I've nevergrudged her anything. In fact I should be pleased if she spent more onher clothes than she seems to care to do, for I like to see a woman welltrigged out. "

"Tom, I have a message for you, " said Vanderlyn slowly, "a ladytelephoned just now to say she's expecting you at five o'clock. "

"Eh! what?" said Pargeter, his fair face flushing, "a lady? What lady?Did she give her name?"

"Mademoiselle de la Tour de Nesle, " said Vanderlyn, with curling lip. 

"Oh Lord! What a plague women are!" said the other, crossly. "SometimesI think it's a pity God ever made Eve! Such impudence, her ringing uphere! Still, she's an amusing little devil. "

"Are you going to see her?" asked Vanderlyn, "because if so I think Ihad better be getting back to my place. You see, I've rather neglectedmy work to-day. "

Something in the other's tone impressed Pargeter disagreeably. 

"I say, don't be shirty!" he exclaimed, "I know you've had a lot ofbother, and I'm awfully grateful to you, and so will Peggy be when sheknows. I sha'n't make up my mind about going to see Nelly till the lastminute----"

"Nelly?" repeated Vanderlyn, puzzled--"Who's Nelly?"

"You know, Grid, --the--the person who rang me up. I always call herNelly. Her name's such a mouthful--still, it's Nelly's Tower, isn't it?See? Perhaps to-day as there's all this fuss on I'd better not go andsee her, eh, Grid? I wish I was like you, " he added, a littleshamefacedly, "you're such a puritan. I suppose that's why Peggy's sofond of you. Birds of a feather, eh? what?" his manner grew sensiblymore affectionate and confidential. 

The two men smoked on in silence. Vanderlyn was trying to choose a formof words with which he could bid the other farewell; he longed with amiserable longing to be alone, but that first day's ordeal was not yetover. 

"I can't face dinner here, " said Pargeter suddenly, "let's go and dineat that new place, the Coq d'Or. "

Vanderlyn lacked the energy to say him nay, and they went out, leavingword where they were to be found. 

Le Coq d'Or was a reconstitution of what had been, in a now desertedsuburban resort, a famous restaurant dedicated to the memory and cult ofRabelais. Vanderlyn had already been there with American friends, but toPargeter the big room, with its quaint mediæval furnishings and largepanels embodying adventures of Gargantua, was new, and for a momentdistracted his mind from what was still more of a grievance than ananxiety. 

But they had not long been seated at one of the narrow oak tables whichwere supposed to be exact copies of those used in a mediæval tavern, when Pargeter began to turn sulky. The maître d'hôtel of the Coq d'Orwas not aware of how important a guest was honouring him that night, andfor a few moments no attention was paid to the two friends. 

"I say, this is no good!" exclaimed Pargeter angrily, "let's gosomewhere else--to the Café de Paris. "

"For God's sake, Tom, " exclaimed Vanderlyn harshly, "sit down! Can't yousee I'm tired out? Let's stay where we are. "

"All right. But I can tell you that at this rate we sha'n't get anythingtill midnight!" Still Pargeter sat down again, and fortunately theresoon came up a waiter who had known the great sportsman elsewhere; and amoment later he was absorbed in the amusing occupation of making out acareful menu from a new bill of fare. 

During the long course of the meal, Vanderlyn listened silently toPargeter's conjectures concerning Peggy's disappearance--conjecturesbroken by lamentations over the contretemps which had made it impossiblefor him to leave Paris that day. Absorbed as he was in himself and hisown grievances, Pargeter was yet keenly aware when his companion'sattention seemed in any way to wander, and at last there came a momentwhen, leaving his cup of black coffee half full, he pushed his chairaway with a gesture of ill-temper. 

"I'm afraid, Grid, all this must be an infernal bore for you!" he said;"after all, Peggy's not your wife--no woman has the right to lead yousuch a dance as she has led me to-day. Let's try to forget her for abit; let's go along to 'The Wash'?"

Vanderlyn shook his head; he felt spent, worn out. He muttered that hehad work to do, that it was time for him to turn in. 

Each man paid his portion of the bill, and, as they went through theglass doors giving onto the Boulevard, Vanderlyn noticed that on eachside of the entrance to the Coq d'Or a man was standing, sentinel-wise, as if waiting for someone to go in or come out. 

For a moment the two friends stood on the pavement. 

"Let's take a fiacre, " said Pargeter suddenly, "and I'll drive you toyour place. " The warm spring weather had brought out a number of opencabs. They hailed one of these, and, as they did so, Vanderlyn noticedthat the two men who had been standing at the door of the restaurantentered another just behind them. 

 * * * * *

When at last he found himself in his own flat, and at last alone, Vanderlyn stood for a few moments in his empty sitting-room. Terrible ashad been the companioned hours of the day, he now feared to be alone. Itwas too early to go to bed--and he looked back with horror to thewakeful hours which had been his the night before. So standing there hetold himself that an hour's walk--he had not walked at all thatday--would quiet his nerves, prepare him for the next day's ordeal. 

As he made his way down the broad shallow stairs, his mind seemed toregain its elasticity. He realised that it must be his business to keepfit. A greater ordeal than anything which had yet befallen him laythere--in front of him. Soon, perhaps to-morrow, the Prefecture ofPolice would connect the finding of a woman's dead body in the trainwhich had left Paris for Orange the night before, with Mrs. Pargeter'sdisappearance. 

It would be then that he would need all his strength and self-control. He remembered with a thrill of anger the curious measuring glance thehead of the Paris detective force had cast on him that morning. Hewondered uneasily how far he had betrayed himself. 

Passing through the porte cochère, he noticed that the concierge wastalking to a neat, stout little Frenchman with whose appearance he felthimself familiar. Vanderlyn looked straight at the man; yes, this wasundoubtedly one of the two watchers who had been standing outside thedoor of the Coq d'Or. 

Then he was being followed, tracked? The Paris police evidently alreadyconnected him in some way with the disappearance of Mrs. Pargeter?

Instead of crossing the road to the deserted pavement which bounds thegardens of the Tuileries, the American turned to the left, and becamemerged in the slowly moving stream of men and women under the arcades ofthe Rue de Rivoli. As he walked along he became conscious, and thatwithout once turning round, that his pursuer was close behind; when hewalked slowly, the other, as far as possible, did the same, and when hehurried on, he could hear the tap-tap dogging his footsteps through thecrowd. 

At last, finding himself opposite the Hotel Continental, Vanderlynstopped and deliberately read over the bill of fare attached to the doorof the restaurant. As he did so, the light of a large réverbère beatdown on his face; from the human current sweeping slowly on behind him aman quietly detached himself, and, standing for a moment by the side ofthe American diplomatist, looked up into his face with a long deliberatestare. 

VII. 

The fact that he was being watched had a curious effect on LaurenceVanderlyn. It roused in him the fighting instinct which he had had tokeep in leash the whole of that terrible first day of repression, saveduring the moments when he had been confronted with the head of thedetective department at the Prefecture of Police. 

As at last he walked on, now choosing deliberately quiet and solitarystreets, the footsteps of his unknown companion echoed loudly behindhim, and he allowed himself, for the first time since the night before, the cruel luxury of recollection. For the first time, also, he forcedhimself to face the knowledge that any hour might bring as unexpected adevelopment as had been the prolonged presence of Pargeter in Paris. Herealised that he must, if possible, be prepared, forearmed, with theknowledge of what had occurred after he had left the darkened railwaycarriage at Dorgival. News travels slowly in provincial France, yet, even so, the fact that the dead body of a woman had been found in afirst-class carriage of the Paris demi-rapide must soon have becomeknown, and made its way into the local press. 

Out of the past there came to Vanderlyn the memory of an old-fashionedreading-room frequented by him long years before when he was studying inParis. 

The place had been pointed out to him by one of the professors at theSorbonne as being by far the best lending library on the left side ofthe Seine; and there, in addition to the ordinary reading-room, was aninner room, where, by paying a special fee, one could see all theleading provincial papers. 

In some such sheet, --for in France every little town has its ownnewspaper, --would almost certainly appear the first intimation of sosinister and mysterious a discovery as the finding of a woman's deadbody in the Paris train. 

Vanderlyn wondered if the library--the Bibliothèque Cardinal was itsname--still existed. If yes, there was every chance that he might findthere what was vital to him to know, both in order to rid himself of theobsessing vision which he saw whenever he shut his tired eyes, and alsothat he might be prepared for any information suddenly forwarded toPargeter from the Prefecture of Police. 

The next morning Vanderlyn was scarcely surprised to see the man who hadshadowed him the night before lying in wait for him before the house. 

The American measured the other's weary face and stout figure, and thenhe began quietly walking up the now deserted arcades of the Rue deRivoli; with a certain grim amusement, he gradually increased his pace, and when at last he turned into the great court of the Louvre, and stoodfor a moment at the base of the Gambetta Monument, he assured himselfthat he had out-distanced his pursuer. 

Striding quickly across the most historic of Paris bridges, he threadedthe narrow, tortuous thoroughfares dear to every lover of old Paris, till he reached the Place St. Sulpice. There, forming one of the cornersof the square, was the house wherein was housed the BibliothèqueCardinal, looking exactly as Vanderlyn remembered its having lookedtwenty years before. Even the huge leather-bound books in the windowsseemed to be the same as in the days when the future Americandiplomatist had been, if not a merry-hearted, then a most enthusiasticstudent, making eager acquaintance with "The Quarter. "

He walked into the shop, and recognised, in the stout, middle-aged womansitting there, the trim young bourgeoise to whom he had often handed afifty centime piece in those days which seemed so distant as almost tobelong to another life. 

"Have you still a provincial paper room?" he asked, in a low tone. 

"Yes, " said the dame du comptoir, suavely, "but we have to charge afranc for admission. "

Vanderlyn smiled. "It used to be fifty centimes, " he said. 

"Ah! Monsieur, that was long ago! There are ten times as many provincialpapers now as then!"

He put the piece of silver on the counter. As he did so, he heard thedoor of the shop quietly open, and, with a disagreeable feeling ofsurprise, he saw the man, the detective he believed he had shaken off, come up unobtrusively to where he was standing. 

Vanderlyn hesitated----Then he reminded himself that what he was aboutto do belonged to the part he had set himself to play: "Well, Madame, "he said, "I will go through into your second reading-room and glanceover the papers;" he forced himself to add, "I am anxious to find newsof a person who has disappeared--who has, I fear, met with an accident. "

The detective asked a question of the woman; he spoke in a low voice, but Vanderlyn heard what he said--that is, whether there was any otherway out of the two reading-rooms except through the shop. On the woman'sreplying in the negative, he settled himself down and opened anillustrated paper. 

Vanderlyn began systematically going through the provincial papers ofthe towns at which he knew the train was to stop after he had left it atDorgival; and after the first uneasy quarter of an hour he forgot thewatcher outside, and became absorbed in his task. To his mingleddisappointment and relief, he found nothing. 

It was of course possible that on the discovery of a dead body in aParis train, the matter would at once be handed over to the Parispolice; that would mean, in this case, that a body so found would beconveyed to the Morgue. 

The thought that this might be so made Vanderlyn's heart quail withanguish and horror, and yet, if such a thing were within the bounds ofpossibility, had he not better go to the Morgue alone and now, ratherthan later in the company of Tom Pargeter?

As he passed out of the reading-room into the book-shop, and so into thesquare, he understood for the first time, how it was that he had made sofoolish a mistake concerning the detective. The latter at once entered afiacre which had evidently been waiting for him, and, as Vanderlynplunged into the labyrinth of narrow streets leading from the Place St. Sulpice to Notre Dame, he could hear the cab crawling slowly behind him. 

Well, what matter? This visit to the Morgue was also in the picture--inthe picture, that is, of Laurence Vanderlyn, the kindly friend of TomPargeter, helping in the perplexing, the now agonising, search for Mrs. Pargeter. 

But when at last he came in sight of the sinister triangular buildingwhich crouches, toad-like, under the shadow of the great Cathedral, Vanderlyn's heart failed him for the first time. If Peggy were indeedlying there exposed to the careless, morbid glances of idle sightseersto whom the Morgue is one of the sights of Paris, he felt that he couldnot trust himself to go in and look at her. 

He stood still for a few moments, and then, as he was about to turn onhis heel, he saw coming towards him from out of the door of the Morgue afigure which struck a note of tragedy in the bright morning sunshine. Itwas Madame de Léra, her eyes full of tears, her heart oppressed by thesights she had just seen. 

"There are three poor people there, " she said, in a low voice, "two menand a woman, but not, thank God! our friend. I wonder if it is possiblethat we are mistaken--that there was no accident, Monsieur Vanderlyn?But then, if so, where is she--why has she not written to me?"

He shook his head with a hopeless gesture, afraid to speak lest heshould be tempted to share with her his agony and complicated suspense. 

"If she were a Catholic, " added Madame de Léra pitifully, "I should beinclined to think--to hope--that she had gone to a convent; but--but forher there was no such place of refuge from temptation----" her voice asshe uttered the last word became almost inaudible; more firmly sheadded, "Is it not possible that she may have gone to England, to herchild?"

"No, " said Vanderlyn, dully, "she has not done that. "

He took her to her door, and then, as he had promised Tom Pargeter todo, went to the Avenue du Bois, there to spend with Margaret Pargeter'shusband another term of weary waiting and suspense. 

 * * * * *

That second day, of which the closing hours were destined to bring toLaurence Vanderlyn the most dramatic and dangerous moments connectedwith the whole tragic episode of Mrs. Pargeter's disappearance, woreitself slowly, uneventfully away. 

Tom Pargeter, alternating between real anxiety, and an angry suspicionthat his wife was in very truth only hiding from him, poured into theears of this man, whom he now regarded rather as his friend than hiswife's, every theory which might conceivably account for Peggy'sdisappearance. He took note of every suggestion made to him by themembers of the now intensely excited and anxious household, for MargaretPargeter's gentle personality and thoughtful kindness had endeared herto her servants. 

When Plimmer, her staid maid, evolved the idea that Mrs. Pargeter, onher way to the station, might have stopped to see some friend, and, finding that friend ill, have remained to nurse her, --the suggestion soseized hold of Pargeter's imagination that he insisted on spending theafternoon in making a tour of his own and his wife's acquaintances. ToVanderlyn's anger and pain, the only result of this action on his partwas that Mrs. Pargeter's disappearance became known to a large circle, and that more than one of the evening papers contained a garbledreference to the matter. 

Meanwhile, or so Pargeter complained, the officials of the Prefecture ofPolice remained curiously inactive. They were quite certain, so theytold the anxious husband, of ultimately solving the mystery, but it wasdoubtful if any news could be procured before the next day, for theywere now directing their researches to the environs of Paris--a newtheory now evolved being that Mrs. Pargeter, having hired a motor cab todrive her to Marly-le-Roi, had met with an accident or sinistermisadventure on the way thither. 

VIII. 

At last the long day wore itself out, and Vanderlyn, in the lateafternoon, found himself once more in his own rooms, alone. He only owedhis escape to-night to the fact that two of Mrs. Pargeter's relationshad arrived from England--one of her many brothers, and a woman cousinwho was fond of her. They, of course, were spending the evening withPargeter, and so the American had a respite--till to-morrow. 

Having eaten his solitary dinner with a zest of which he felt ashamed, he was now in his study leaning back in an easy-chair, with a pile ofunread papers at his side. 

As he sat there, in the quiet, almost shabby room, which was socuriously different from the splendours of the Pargeter villa, therecame over him a sense of profound and not unpleasing lassitude. 

He looked back to the last forty-eight hours as to a long nightmare, broken by the few solitary walks he had forced himself to take. But forthese brief periods of self-communing, he felt that his body, as well ashis mind, would and must have given way. Peggy's husband had leanthelplessly on him, and from the first moment he had been--so indifferentonlookers would have told you--the sympathetic, helpful witness of thevarious phases Tom Pargeter had lived through during those long twodays. 

For something like a week Vanderlyn had been living so apart from theworld about him that he had known nothing, cared nothing, about what hadgone on in that world. That very day an allusion had been made in hispresence to some public event of importance of which he was evidentlyquite ignorant, and the look of profound astonishment which had crossedan Embassy colleague's face, warned him that he could not go on as hehad been doing without provoking considerable, and far from pleasant, comment. 

Putting out his hand, he took up the _New York Herald_--not the Parisedition, in which there was almost certain to be allusions to that whichhe wished for the moment to forget--but the old home paper which hadarrived by that day's mail, and which had been carefully opened andironed out by the faithful Poulain. 

The newspaper was a little over a week old; it bore the date, April 28. What had he been doing on the twenty-eighth of April? and then with arush it all came back to him--everything he wished for the moment toforget. It was on the afternoon of that day, the first warm spring dayof the year, that they had been tempted, he and Peggy, to make their waydown into the heart of Paris, to the solitary Place des Vosges. It wasthere, it was then, that they had together planned that which hadbrought him to his present dreadful pass. 

Vanderlyn put the paper back on the table, and his face fell forward onhis hands; was he fated never to be allowed to forget--not even for amoment?

It was with relief that he welcomed the interruption caused by theentrance of his servant bearing a card in his hand. "A gentleman hascome and insists on seeing Monsieur. "

Poulain spoke in a mysterious, significant tone, one that jarred onVanderlyn's sensitive nerves. The disappearance of Mrs. Pargeter hadbecome an engrossing, a delightful drama, not only to the members of thePargeter household, but also to Poulain and his worthy wife; and it hadbeen one of the smaller ironical agonies of Vanderlyn's position that hedid not feel himself able to check or discourage their perpetual andindiscreet enquiries. 

"I have already told you, " he said sternly, "that I receive no oneto-night. Even if Mr. Pargeter himself comes, you are to say that I amout!"

"I'm afraid Monsieur will have to receive this gentleman. "

"Poulain!" exclaimed Vanderlyn sharply. "This won't do! Go at once andinform this gentleman, whoever he may be, that I can see no oneto-night. "

"I did say so, " observed Poulain, in an injured tone, "I explained tohim that you would see no one. I said you were out--he said that hewould wait. Then, Monsieur, not till then, he handed me his card. IfMonsieur will give himself the trouble of looking at it, I think he willreceive the gentleman. "

Vanderlyn took the card with an impatient movement. He glanced at it. "Why did you not tell me at once, " he said roughly, "who this--thisperson was? Of course I must see the Prefect of Police. "

More than once, Vanderlyn had had proof of the amazing perfection andgrip of the great, the mysterious organisation, that oligarchy within arepublic, which has always played a paramount rôle in every section ofParisian life. The American diplomatist had not lived in France allthese years without unconsciously acquiring an almost superstitiousbelief in the omnipotence of the French police. 

He got up and placed himself between the lamp and the door. He knewslightly the formidable official whose presence here surely indicatedsome serious development in what had now become a matter of urgentinterest to many quite outside the Pargeter circle. 

The two or three moments' delay--doubtless the zealous Poulain wasengaged in helping the important visitor off with his coat--were passedby Vanderlyn in a state of indescribable nervous tension and suspense. He was glad when they came to an end. 

And yet the Frenchman who came into Vanderlyn's sitting-room, making aceremonious bow, would have suggested no formidable or even strikingpersonality to the eyes of the average Englishman or American. His stoutfigure, clad in an ill-cut suit of evening clothes, recalled rather aGavarni caricature than a dapper modern official, the more so that hisround, fleshy face was framed in the carefully trimmed mutton-chopwhiskers which remain a distinguishing mark of the more old-fashionedmembers of the Parisian Bar. The red button, signifying that its weareris an officer of the Legion of Honour, was exceptionally small andunobtrusive. Vanderlyn was well aware that his visitor was no up-start, owing promotion to adroit flattery of the Republican powers; the Prefectof Police came of good bourgeois stock, and was son to a legal luminarywho had played a considerable part in '48. His manner was suave, hisvoice almost caressing in its urbanity----

"I have the honour, have I not, of speaking to Mr. Laurence Vanderlyn?"

Vanderlyn bowed; he turned and led the way to the fireplace. "Yes, Monsieur le Préfet, Laurence Vanderlyn at your service. I think we havealready met, at the Elysée----" he drew forward a second armchair. 

Monsieur le Préfet sat down; and for the first time the Americandiplomatist noticed that his visitor held a small, black, batteredportfolio in his right hand. As the Frenchman laid it across his knee, he gave a scarcely perceptible glance round the room; then, at last, hisgaze concentrated itself on the table where stood the lamp, and thespread-open newspaper. 

"You probably divine, Monsieur, " said the Prefect, after a short pause, "what has brought me here to-night. I have come to see you--perhaps Ishould say to consult you--in connection with the disappearance of Mrs. Pargeter. "

"Yes?" said Vanderlyn interrogatively, "I am, of course, quite at yourdisposal. I have been with Mr. Pargeter all to-day, but so far themystery remains as great as ever. " He stopped abruptly, feeling itwisest not to speak, but to listen. 

"That, I repeat, is why I have come here, " said Vanderlyn's formidablevisitor. He spoke with a great deliberateness and mildness of manner. "Icannot help thinking, my dear sir, that with your help we may be, orrather _I_ may be, on the eve of a discovery. "

Vanderlyn looked surprised; his desolate eyes met the older man'shesitating glance quite squarely, but this time he remained silent. 

The Prefect went on speaking, and his voice became more and more suave;he was certainly desirous of saving in every way his host'ssusceptibilities. 

"The fact that I have taken the very unusual course of coming myself tosee you, Mr. Vanderlyn, will prove to you the importance I attach tothis interview. Indeed, I wish to be quite frank with you----"

Vanderlyn bent his head, and then he sat up, listening keenly while theother continued----

"This is not, I am convinced, an ordinary case of disappearance, and itis to us, and especially to me, disagreeably complicated by the factthat the lady is an English subject and that her husband is a well-knownand highly thought of member of our English colony. This makes me themore anxious to avoid"--he hesitated, then firmly uttered the two words, "any scandal. It was suggested at the Préfecture to-day that it would bewell to make a perquisition, not only in Mrs. Pargeter's own house, butalso in the houses of some of her intimates. Mr. Pargeter, as you know, gave the police every possible facility. Nothing was found in the VillaPargeter which could throw any light on Mrs. Pargeter's disappearance. Now, Monsieur, before subjecting _you_ to such an unpleasant occurrence, I decided to approach you myself----"

Vanderlyn opened his lips, and then closed them again. 

"I have come to ask you, Monsieur, one question, and I give you my wordas an honest man that what you tell me shall be treated as confidential. I ask you if you know more of this mysterious matter than you areapparently prepared to divulge? In a word--I beg you to tell me whereMrs. Pargeter is hiding at the present moment? I have no wish to disturbher retreat, but I beg you most earnestly to entrust me with thesecret. "

Again the speaker's eyes took a discreet journey round the plain, nowshadow-filled room; his glance rested on the book-shelves which formedso important a part of its decorations, lingered doubtingly on a carvedwalnut chest set between two of the windows, peered through these sameunshuttered windows on to the dark stone balconies, then, baffled, hiseyes came back and fixed themselves on the American diplomatist's face. 

A feeling of indescribable relief stole over Vanderlyn's wearied and yetalert senses. It was clear that the Prefect of Police knew nothing ofthe truth; the directness of his question proved it. Yet, even so, Vanderlyn felt that he must steer his way very warily. 

"You are in error, " he said at last, "for you credit me, Monsieur lePréfet, with a knowledge I do not possess. "

"Ah!" said the other mildly, "that is most unfortunate!"

"May I, on my side, put to you a question to which I should be glad ofan honest answer?" said Vanderlyn abruptly. "Are you now engaged inmaking a wide-spread enquiry among those who had the honour of thislady's acquaintance?"

"No, Monsieur, "--the Prefect's manner showed an eager desire to be quitefrank, --"I am confining my personal enquiries to only two persons; thatis, to a certain Madame de Léra, to whom you will remember Mrs. Pargeterwas about to pay a visit at the moment she disappeared, and toyourself. "

Vanderlyn made a sudden nervous movement, but he checked the words whichrose to his lips, for the Prefect was again speaking, and this time witha certain excitement of manner. 

"I am convinced that Mrs. Pargeter never intended to go to Madame deLéra, and that the proposed visit was a blind! The facts speak forthemselves. Madame de Léra had taken only one servant to the country, and this servant, an old woman whom she has had with her many years, andwhom she can entirely trust, had no idea that her mistress was expectinga visitor! I repeat--that no preparations for Mrs. Pargeter's arrivalhad been made at Marly-le-Roi. It is my belief--nay, my conviction--thatMadame de Léra knows perfectly well where her friend is now concealed. "

It was then that Vanderlyn committed what was perhaps the only mistakehe was destined to commit during this difficult interview. "Has Madamede Léra made any such admission?" he asked quickly. 

"No, " answered the Prefect, looking at him thoughtfully, "Madame de Lérahas made no admission; but then I have learned, through long experience, never to believe, where there is a friend in the case, what a lady tellsme. Women of the world, my dear sir, are more loyal the one to the otherthan we men may choose to believe!"

"And men, Monsieur? Are they more disloyal?" Vanderlyn spoke quietly, indifferently, as if the question was of no moment. 

"Men, " said Monsieur le Préfet, dryly, "are as a rule quite as loyal, especially where they feel their honour is engaged. But with a man it ispossible to reason; a woman, especially a good woman, follows thedictates of instinct, --in other words, of her heart. "

"I notice, Monsieur le Préfet, that you eliminate the possibility ofmaterial accident having occurred to Mrs. Pargeter?"

"Let us distinguish!" exclaimed the older man quickly. "If, by accident, you mean, Mr. Vanderlyn, the type of mishap which might have occurred tothis lady when she was walking or driving in our Paris streets, then Icertainly eliminate the possibility of accident to Mrs. Pargeter. Withinsix hours of such a thing having occurred the facts would have been laidbefore me, and, as you know, two nights and two days have elapsed sinceher disappearance. If, on the other hand, we envisage the possibility ofsuicide, then are opened up a new series of possibilities. "

The Prefect gave a piercing look at the American's worn and sorrow-ladenface, but he did not find written there any involuntary answer to hismute interrogation. 

"Some years ago, " went on the great official, "a man well known in Parissociety made up his mind to take his own life. He hired a cellar, lockedthe door, and then shot himself. Months went by before his disappearancewas accounted for, and then the body was only discovered by an accident. If Mrs. Pargeter has committed suicide, and if she, an intelligentwoman, was determined that the fact should never be found out by herfriends, then I admit our task becomes a very difficult one! But I donot believe, " he continued, after a short silence, "that Mrs. Pargeterdid this. I believe she is alive, and well. She was, by each accountthat has reached me, young, charming, and wealthy. She had a child whomshe apparently adored. As for her relations with her husband----" thePrefect shrugged his shoulders, and again looked searchingly atVanderlyn. 

"Mr. Thomas Pargeter, " he went on, smiling, "is not perhaps the perfecthusband of whom every young girl dreams; but then no one is so foolishas to search for the perfect husband in the world to which your friendbelongs! He is not exactly a _viveur_, --but he is, to use the slang ofthe day, essentially a _jouisseur_. Is not that so?" He added, with arather twisted grin, "If every lady whose husband lives to enjoy himselfwere to commit suicide, there would be very few women left in our Parisworld. "

"I agree with you, Monsieur le Préfet, in thinking Mrs. Pargeter was thelast woman in the world to commit suicide, " said Vanderlyn brusquely, and then he got up. 

There had come over him during the last few moments an inexplicable, instinctive feeling of dread, --that panting fear which besets the huntedcreature. He was determined to bring to an end the interview. But thePrefect of Police had no intention of being disposed of so easily. Heremained sitting where he was; and, placing his two fat hands firmly onhis knees, sat looking at the American's tall figure. Slowly his eyestravelled up till they rested on his host's haggard face. 

"Then I am to understand, Mr. Vanderlyn, that you are not in a positionto give me any help? That is your last word?"

Vanderlyn suddenly determined to carry the war into the enemy's country. 

"I can only repeat, " he said, harshly, "what I said before, Monsieur lePréfet--namely, that you credit me with a knowledge which I do notpossess. Further, that while, of course, I appreciate the kindly motivewhich has inspired your visit, I think I have a right to resent thesuspicions which that visit indicates, I do not say on your part, but onthat of your subordinates. I will not disguise from you my knowledgethat for the last two days every step I have taken has been dogged; Isuspect also, but of that I have no proof, that my servants, and theconcierge of this house, have been questioned as to my movements, as tomy daily life. I cannot help also suspecting--perhaps in this I amwrong--that the police are inclined to believe that Mrs. Pargeter--awoman, let me remind you, Monsieur le Préfet, of the highest and mostunspotted character--is hiding here, in my chambers! You speak of havingsaved me from a perquisition, --a perquisition in the rooms of adiplomatist is a serious matter, Monsieur le Préfet, and I tell youquite frankly that I should have resisted such an outrage in every wayin my power! But now, in the present very peculiar circumstances, Irequest, --nay, I demand, --that you should search my rooms. Everypossible facility shall be afforded you. " Vanderlyn's voice was shakingwith undisguised anger, --aye, and disgust. 

The Prefect of Police rose from his chair. 

"I have no wish to subject you to any indignity, " he said earnestly, "Iabsolutely accept your assurance that Mrs. Pargeter is not in hidinghere. I am aware, Mr. Vanderlyn, that Americans do not lie, "--an ironicsmile wavered for a moment over his large mouth. 

Vanderlyn's face remained impassive. "You, on your side, must forgive myheat, " he said, quietly. Then he suddenly determined to play for a highstake. "May I ask you to satisfy my curiosity on one point? What madeyou first suspect such a thing? What led you to--to suppose----"

"----That you knew where this lady was; that she might--say, after alittle misunderstanding with her husband--have taken refuge with you?Well, yes, Mr. Vanderlyn, I admit that you have a right to ask me this, and it was because I feared you might lack the exquisite courtesy youhave shown me, that I brought with me to-night a document whichcontains, in what I trust you will consider a discreet form, an answerto your delicate question. "

Vanderlyn's visitor again sat down; he laid open on his knee the leatherportfolio, and out of it he took a large sheet of foolscap, which, unfolding, he handed to Laurence Vanderlyn. 

"This, Monsieur, is your _dossier_. If you can prove to me that it isincorrect in any particular, I will see that the error is rectified. Wenaturally take special care in compiling the _dossiers_ of foreigndiplomatists, for experience has shown that these often become of greatvalue, even after the gentlemen in question have left Paris for someother capital. "

Vanderlyn reddened. He glanced over the odd-looking document with eager, curious eyes. A few words here and there were printed, but the rest ofthe _dossier_ was written in the round copying character which must bemastered by every French Government clerk hoping for promotion. 

First came the American diplomatist's Christian name and surname, hisplace of birth, his probable age--right within two years, --a shortepitome of his diplomatic career, a guess at his income, this itemconsiderably under the right figure, and evidently based on his quietway of living. 

Then, under a printed heading "General Remarks, " were written a fewphrases in a handwriting very different from the rest--that is, in thesmall clear caligraphy of an educated Frenchman. Staring down at these, Vanderlyn felt shaken with anger and disgust, for these "GeneralRemarks" concerned that part of his private life which every manbelieves to be hidden from his fellows:--

"Peu d'intimités d'hommes. Pas de femmes: par contre, une amitiéamoureuse très suivie avec Madame (Marguerite) Pargeter. Voir dossierPargeter (Thomas). "

Amitié amoureuse? Friendship akin to love? The English language, so richin synonyms, owns no exact equivalent for this French phrase, expressivethough it be of a phase of human emotion as old as human nature itself. 

Vanderlyn looked up. His eyes met squarely those of the other man. 

"Your staff, " he said, very quietly, "have served you well, Monsieur; my_dossier_ is, on the whole, extraordinarily correct. There is but oneword which I would have altered, and which, indeed, I venture to beg youto correct without loss of time. The young man--he is evidently a youngman--who wrote the summary to which you have drawn my attention, musthave literary tastes, otherwise there is one word in this document whichwould not be there. " Vanderlyn put his finger down firmly on the word"amoureuse. " "My relations with Mrs. Pargeter were, it is true, those ofclose friendship, but I must ask you to accept my assurance, Monsieur lePréfet, that they were not what the writer of this passage evidentlybelieved them to have been. "

"I will make a note of the correction, " said the Prefect, gravely, "andI must offer you my very sincere excuses for having troubled youto-night. "

As Vanderlyn's late visitor drove home that night, he said to himself, indeed he said aloud to the walls of the shabby little carriage whichhad heard so many important secrets, "He knows whatever there is to beknown--but, then, what is it that is to be known? Of what mystery am Inow seeking the solution?"

IX. 

As he heard the door shut on the Prefect of Police, Vanderlyn felt hisnerve give way. There had come a moment during the conversation, when, as if urged by some malignant power outside himself, he had felt asudden craving to take the old official into his confidence, and tellhim the whole truth--so magnetic were the personality, the compellingwill, of the man who had just left him. 

He walked over to the corner window of his sitting-room, and steppedonto the stone balcony which overlooked the twinkling lights of thePlace de la Concorde. 

Then, flung out, merged in the deep roar below, there broke fromLaurence Vanderlyn a bitter cry; the keen night air had brought with ita sudden memory of that moment when he had opened the railway carriagedoor and stepped out into the rushing wind. .. . He asked himself why hehad not followed his first impulse, why he had not allowed himself todie, with Peggy in his arms? Why, above all, had he undertaken a taskwhich it was becoming beyond his strength to carry through?

So wondering, so questioning, he leaned over the balustrade dangerouslyfar; then he drew quickly back, and placing his hands on the parapet, stood for a moment as if holding at bay an invisible, yet to himselfmost tangible, enemy. 

With a sigh which was a groan, he walked back into the room. He hadnever yet failed Peggy; he would not fail her now----

Vanderlyn sat down; he was determined not to be beaten by his nerves. Hetook up the _New York Herald_; but a moment later he had laid the paperdown again on the table. What had been going on in America a week agocould not compel his attention. He took another paper off the table; itwas the London _Daily Telegraph_, of which one of the most successfulfeatures for many years has been a column entitled "Paris Day byDay, "--an _olla podrida_ of news, grave and gay, domestic andsensational, put together with infinite art, and a full understanding ofwhat is likely to appeal to the British middle-class reader. There, asVanderlyn knew well, was certain to be some reference to thedisappearance of Mrs. Pargeter. 

Yes--here it was!

"No trace of Mrs. Pargeter, the wife of the well-known sportsman andowner of Absinthe, has yet been found; but the lady's relations think itpossible that she went unexpectedly to stay with some friends, and thatthe letter informing her household of her whereabouts has miscarried. "

The Paris correspondent of the great London newspaper had proved himselfvery discreet. 

Vanderlyn's eyes glanced idly down the long column of paragraphs whichmake up "Paris Day by Day. " Again he remembered the look of deepastonishment which had crossed a colleague's face at his ignorance ofsome new sensation of which at that moment all Paris was apparentlytalking. So it was that he applied himself to read the trifling items ofnews with some care, for here would be found everything likely to keephim in touch with the gossip of the day. 

At last he came to the final paragraph--

"Yet another railway mystery! The dead body of a woman has been found ina first-class compartment in a train which left Paris at 7 P. M. LastWednesday. As the discovery was not made till the train reached Orange, it is, of course, impossible to know where the unfortunate woman, who, by her dress, belonged to the leisured class, entered the train. Herhand baggage had disappeared, no doubt stolen at some interveningstation by someone who, having made the gruesome discovery, thought itwise to make himself scarce. The police do not, however, consider thatthey are in the presence of a crime. Dr. Fortoul, the well-knownphysician of Orange, has satisfied himself that the lady died of heartdisease. "

Vanderlyn went on staring down at the printed words. They seemed to makemore true, more inevitable, the fact of Margaret Pargeter's death, andof his own awful loss. 

But with the agony of this thought came infinite relief, for this, or sohe thought, meant that his own personal ordeal was at last drawing to aclose. The fact of so strange and unwonted an occurrence as the findingof a woman's dead body in a train, would surely be at once connected bythe trained intellects of the Paris Police with the disappearance ofMrs. Pargeter. 

He let the paper fall to the ground and began to think intently. Whenthat came to pass, as it certainly must do within the next few hours, itwould become his grim business to persuade Tom Pargeter that the cluewas one worth following. The mystery solved, the question of howMargaret Pargeter came to be travelling in the demi-rapide would becomparatively unimportant--at any rate not a point which such a man asTom Pargeter would give himself much trouble to clear up. 

Then with some uneasiness he remembered that before such an item of newscould have found its way into an English newspaper, the fact must havebeen known to the French police for at least twelve hours. If that wereso, their acumen was not as great as that with which Vanderlyn creditedthem. 

But stay! The Prefect of Police was convinced that Mrs. Pargeter wasalive, and that he, Vanderlyn, knew her whereabouts; it was not forPeggy dead, but for Peggy living, that they were still searching soeagerly. 

He opened the _Figaro_ and the _Petit Journal_, and ran a shaking fingerdown the columns; there, in each paper, hidden away among unimportantitems, and told more briefly and in much balder language, he at lastfound the story of the discovery which the _Daily Telegraph_ had servedup as a tit-bit to thrill the readers of its Paris news columns. 

Vanderlyn made up his mind to spend the whole of the next day withPargeter; he must be at the villa, ready to put in his word ofadvice, --even, if need be, of suggestion, --when the moment came for himto do so. 

For the first time for many nights Vanderlyn's sleep was unbroken; andearly the next morning he made his way to the Avenue du Bois deBoulogne. 

As he walked through the hall of the villa, already peopled with a scoreof the Pargeters' acquaintances, eager to show their sympathy with thewealthy sportsman in this most untoward and extraordinary occurrence, the American was obliged to shake hands with many men whom he hadhitherto only known by sight, and to answer questions some of whichimpressed him as strangely indiscreet. More than one of those with whomhe found himself thus face to face looked at him with cruel, inquisitiveeyes, and a scarcely veiled curiosity, for it was of course well knownthat Laurence Vanderlyn had been an intimate, not only of the husband, but also of the wife. 

At last Pargeter's valet threaded his way up to him: "Will you pleasecome upstairs, sir? Mr. Pargeter told me to say that he would be glad ifyou would go to his dressing-room as soon as you arrived. "

"There's no news, Grid, --no news at all! It's getting awful, isn'tit?--quite beyond a joke! You know what I mean--I'm sick of answeringstupid questions. I was waked this morning at seven--had to see a man inbed! They don't seem to understand that I can tell them nothing beyondthe bare fact that she's vanished; they actually sent two women herelast night----"

"Two women?" echoed Vanderlyn. "What sort of women?"

"Ugly old hags, " said Pargeter, briefly, "from the Prefecture of Police. They brought an impudent letter asking me to allow them to turn outPeggy's room and look over all her things! But I refused----" he lookedat his friend for sympathy--and found it. 

"You were quite right, " said Vanderlyn quickly. His face became rigidwith anger and disgust. "Quite right, Tom! Whatever made them think ofsuggesting such a thing? Where would be the use of it?"

"Oh! well, of course they had a reason. The police are particularly keenthat we should look over any old letters of hers; they think that wemight find some kind of clue. But I don't believe she kept herletters--why should she? I don't keep mine. However, I've promised to dothe job myself----" he looked uncertainly at Vanderlyn. "Would you mind, Grid, coming with me into Peggy's room? Of course Plimmer, that's hermaid, you know, will help us. She knows where Peggy keeps all herthings. "

"Why not ask Madame de Léra to do it?" said Vanderlyn, in a low voice. 

He turned away and stared at a sporting print which hung just on thelevel of his eyes. Had he ever written imprudent letters to Peggy? Notlately, but in the early days, --in that brief time of uncertain ecstasy, and, on his part, of passionate expression, which had preceded theirlong successful pretence at friendship? He himself had preserved laterletters of hers--not love-letters assuredly, but letters which provedclearly enough the strange closeness of their intimacy. 

But what was this that Pargeter was saying? "Madame de Léra? Why shouldI ask her to interfere? I don't want to mix her up in this business morethan I can help! If it hadn't been for her--and that ridiculousinvitation of hers, Peggy would be here now! Peggy wouldn't mind yourlooking over her things, Grid. She's really fond of you--as fond of youas she can be of anyone, that is. "

He got up, and, preceding Vanderlyn down a connecting passage, flungopen the door giving access to a spacious airy bedchamber of which thepale mauve and grey furnishings reminded both men of Peggy's favouriteflower and scent. The sun-blinds were down and the maid was standing, asif waiting for them, by the dressing-table. 

They both instinctively hesitated on the threshold. "Tom, " saidVanderlyn, hoarsely, "I don't think I ought to come in here----"

"Don't be a fool! I tell you she wouldn't mind a bit. Surely you're notgoing to cut--now?"

Pargeter took a step forward; then he stood for a moment looking roundhim, evidently perplexed, and ill at ease at finding himself thussuddenly introduced into his wife's intimate atmosphere. 

"I don't believe she kept any letters, " he repeated, then glanceduncertainly at the lady's-maid who stood primly by. 

"Mrs. Pargeter kept some letters in that writing-desk over there, sir, --at least I think she did. "

Close to the small tent-bed stood an old-fashioned rosewood davenport, arelic of Margaret Pargeter's childhood and girlhood, brought from herdistant English home. 

The maid waited for a moment, and then added, "The desk is locked, sir. "

"Locked? Then did Mrs. Pargeter take her keys with her?"

"I suppose she did, sir. "

"Then it's no use, " said Pargeter, with a certain relief, "I don't wantto force the thing open. "

Vanderlyn looked across, coldly and steadily, at the woman. Herexpression struck him as oddly enigmatical; meeting his glance, Plimmerreddened, her eyes dropped. "I expect any simple key would open it, " hesaid, briefly. 

"Well, sir, I did ask the housekeeper to lend me a bunch of keys. Herethey are, " she opened one of the dressing-table drawers. "Perhaps one ofthe smaller ones would fit the lock. "

It was Vanderlyn who took the keys from her strangely reluctant hand, and it was he who at last felt the old-fashioned lock yield. 

"Now, Pargeter, " he said, sharply, "will you please come over here?"

The whole of the inside of the desk was filled with neat packets, eachcarefully tied up and docketed; on several had been written, "In thecase of my death, to be burnt;" on other packets, "To be returned toMadame de Léra in case of my death. "

Vanderlyn saw that here at least were none of his letters, and none fromPeggy's child. 

"It's no use bothering about any of these, " said Pargeter, crossly, "they can't tell us anything. Why anyone should trouble to keep oldletters is quite beyond me!"

"That little knob that you see there, sir, " said Plimmer, in herdiffident, well-trained voice, "is the head of a brass pin; if you drawit out, sir, it releases the side drawer. I think you will find moreletters there, --at least that is where Master Jasper's letters are, Iknow. "

She looked furtively at Vanderlyn, and her look said, "If you want tohave the truth you shall have it!"

"I say, how queer!" exclaimed Pargeter. "A secret drawer! eh, Grid?"

"All old pieces of furniture have that kind of thing, " said Vanderlyn, "there isn't any secret about it. "

Pargeter fumbled at the brass-headed pin; he pulled it out, and a drawerwhich filled up the side of the davenport shot out. Yes, here were morepackets inscribed with the words, "Jasper's letters, written at school, "and then others, "To be returned to Laurence Vanderlyn in case of mydeath;" and two or three loose letters. 

"Well, these won't tell us anything, eh, Grid?" Pargeter opened thefirst envelope under his hand:--

 "Dear Mammy, " (he read slowly), "Please send me ten shillings. I have finished the French cherry-jam. I should like some more. Also some horses made of gingerbread. I have laid 3 to 1 on Absinthe. Betting is forbidden, but as it was Dad's horse I thought I might. My bat is the best in the school. 

 "Your loving "Jasper. "

"He's a fine little chap, isn't he, Grid?" Pargeter was fingeringabsently a yellowing packet of Vanderlyn's letters: "Fancy keeping yourold letters! What a queer thing to do!"

Vanderlyn said nothing. The maid stared at him stealthily. 

At last Pargeter put the packet down, and deliberately opened yetanother envelope which lay loose. "I suppose this is the last note youwrote to her?" he said, then, opening it, murmured its contents over tohimself:--

 "Dear Peggy, "I hear the show at the Gardinets is worth seeing. I'll call for you at two to-morrow. 

 Yours sincerely, "L. V. "

"Well, it's no use our wasting any more time here, is it? We'd better godownstairs and have a smoke. Why--why, Grid!--what's the matter?"

"It's nothing, " said Vanderlyn, roughly, "I'll be all right in a minuteor two----"

"I don't wonder you're upset, " said the other, moodily. "But just thinkwhat it must be for _me_. I can't stand much more of it. It's beensimply awful since Peggy's brother and that cousin of hers arrived. Theytreat me as if I were a murderer! They're at the Prefecture of Policenow, making what they're pleased to call their own enquiries. "

They had left Peggy's room, and as he spoke Pargeter was leading the waydown a staircase which led into his smoking-room. 

Once there, he shut the door and came and stood close by Vanderlyn. 

"Grid, " he said, lowering his voice, "I've been wondering--don't youthink it would be a good plan if I were to go and see thatfortune-teller of mine, Madame d'Elphis? I don't mind telling you thatI'd a shot at her yesterday evening, but she was away. She doessometimes make mistakes, but still, she's a kind of Providence to me. Inever do anything important--I mean at the stables--without consultingher. "

Vanderlyn looked at the eager face, the odd twinkling green and blueeyes, with scarcely concealed surprise and contempt. 

"Surely you don't think she could tell you where--what's happened toPeggy?" he said incredulously. 

"If I could have seen her last night, " went on Pargeter, "I'd have gotaway to England to-day. There's no object in my staying here; _I_ can'thelp them to find Peggy. But La d'Elphis won't see me before to-morrowmorning. If she can't clear up the mystery nobody can. I'm beginning tothink, Grid"--he came close up to the other man, --"that something musthave happened to her. I'm beginning to feel--worried!"

X. 

An hour later Vanderlyn had escaped from Pargeter, and was standingalone in Madame de Léra's drawing-room. 

He was scarcely conscious of how many hours he had spent during the lastterrible three days, with the middle-aged Frenchwoman who had been sotrue and sure a friend of Margaret Pargeter. In Madame de Léra'spresence alone was he able, to a certain extent, to drop the mask whichhe was compelled to wear in the presence of all others, and especiallyin that of the man who, as time went on, seemed more and more to lean onhim and find comfort in his companionship. 

Vanderlyn had walked the considerable distance from the Avenue du Boisto the quiet street near the Luxembourg where Adèle de Léra lived, andall the way he had felt as if pursued by a mocking demon. 

How much longer, so he asked himself, was his awful ordeal to endure?The moments spent by him and Pargeter in Peggy's room had racked heartand memory. He now fled to Madame de Léra as to a refuge from himself. 

And yet? Yet he never looked round her pretty sitting-room, with itsfaded, rather austere furnishings, without being vividly reminded of thewoman he had loved and whom he had now lost, for it was there that Peggyhad spent the most peaceful hours of her life since Pargeter had firstdecided that henceforth they should live in Paris. 

 * * * * *

At last Madame de Léra came into the room; she gave her visitor a quickquestioning look. "Have you nothing new to tell?" she asked. 

And, after a moment of scarcely perceptible hesitation, Vanderlynanswered, "I have nothing new to tell, " but as they both sat down, as hesaw how sad and worn the kind face had become in the last three days, there came over him a strong wish to confide in her--to tell her thewhole truth. He longed, with morbid longing, to share his knowledge. She, after all, was the only human being who knew the story of histragic, incomplete love. It would be an infinite comfort and relief totell her, if not everything, then at least of the irony, theuselessness, of their present search. 

Since last night the secret no longer seemed to be his alone. 

But Vanderlyn resisted the temptation. He had no right to cast even halfhis burden on another. Any moment the odious experience which had, itseemed, already befallen Madame de Léra might be repeated. She mightagain be cross-questioned by the police. In that event it was essentialthat she should be still able truthfully to declare that she knewnothing. 

"I have just come from Tom Pargeter, " he observed quietly. "I can't helpbeing sorry for him. The police have been worrying him, and--and attheir suggestion we have been seeking among her things--among hercorrespondence--for some clue. But of course we found nothing. Pargeteris longing to go away--to England. How I wish he would go, --God! how Iwish he would go! After all, as he says himself, he can do no good bystaying here. He would receive any news within an hour. "

Madame de Léra leant forward. "Ah! but if Mr. Pargeter leaves Parisbefore--before something is discovered, his conduct would be regarded asvery cruel--very heartless. "

"Did you know, " said Vanderlyn, in a low voice, "that Peggy once beforedisappeared for three days? Pargeter keeps harking back to that. Hethinks that she found out something which made her leave him again. "

"Yes, " said Madame de Léra, "I knew of that episode in their earlymarried life--but on that occasion, Mr. Vanderlyn, our poor friendcannot be said to have disappeared--she only returned to her ownfamily. "

"Why, having once escaped, did she ever go back to him?" askedVanderlyn, sombrely. 

"You forget, " said Madame de Léra, gently, "that even then there was herson. "

Her son? Nay, Vanderlyn at no moment ever forgot Peggy's child. Tohimself, he seemed to be the only human being who ever thought of thepoor little boy lying ill in far-away England. 

"Well, you need not be afraid, " he said quickly, "that Pargeter will goaway to-day. He intends to stay in Paris at least till to-morrow night, for he is convinced, it seems, that the fortune-teller, Madamed'Elphis, --the woman who by some incredible stroke of luck stumbled onthe right name of that horse of his which won the Oaks, --will be able totell him what has happened to--to Margaret Pargeter. "

And, meeting Madame de Léra's troubled gaze, he added in a low bittertone, "How entirely that gives one the measure of the man, --the absurdnotion, I mean, that a fortune-teller can solve the mystery! Fortunatelyor unfortunately, this Madame d'Elphis has been away for two or threedays, but she will be back, it seems, in time to give Pargeter, who is afavoured client, an appointment to-morrow morning. "

Adèle de Léra suddenly rose from her chair; with a nervous movement sheclasped her hands together. 

"Ah, but that must not happen!" she exclaimed. "We must think of a wayby which we can prevent an interview between Mr. Pargeter and Lad'Elphis! Unless, " she concluded slowly, "there is no serious reason whyhe should not know the truth--now?"

Vanderlyn also got up. A look of profound astonishment came over hisface. 

"The truth?" he repeated. "But surely, Madame de Léra, it is impossiblethat this woman whom Pargeter is going to consult to-morrow morning canhave any clue to the truth! Surely you do not seriously believe----" hedid not conclude his sentence. That this broad-minded and religiousFrenchwoman could possibly cherish any belief in the type of charlatanto which the American diplomatist supposed the famous Parisfortune-teller to belong was incredible to him. 

"I beg of you most earnestly, " she repeated, in a deeply troubled voice, "to prevent any meeting between Mr. Pargeter and Madame d'Elphis!Believe me, I do not speak without reason; I know more of thissoothsayer and her mysterious powers than you can possibly know----"

"Do you mean me to understand that you yourself would ever consult suchan oracle?" Vanderlyn could not keep a certain contemptuous incredulityout of his voice. 

"No, indeed! But then I, unlike you, believe this woman's traffic to beof the devil. Listen, Mr. Vanderlyn, and I will tell you of a case inwhich La d'Elphis was closely concerned--a case of which I have absoluteknowledge. "

Madame de Léra went back to her chair; she sank into it, and, withVanderlyn standing before her, she told him the story. 

"If you cast back your mind to the time when you were first in Paris, you will probably recall my husband's niece, a beautiful girl namedJeanne de Léra?" Vanderlyn bent his head without speaking; nay more, alook of pain came over his tired face, and sunken eyes, for, strangelyenough, there was a certain sinister parallel between the fate which hadbefallen the charming girl whose image was thus suddenly brought upbefore him, and that of the beloved woman who seemed to be now even morepresent to his emotional memory than she had been in life. 

"As you know, for it was no secret, Jeanne had what English and Americanpeople call 'flirted' with Henri Delavigne, and he had sworn that hewould kill himself on her wedding-day. Well, the poor foolish girl tookthis threat very seriously; it shadowed her happy betrothal, and on thevery day before her marriage was to take place, she persuaded hermarried sister to go with her to a fortune-teller. It was not her ownfuture, which stretched cloudless and radiant before her, that temptedJeanne to peer into these mysteries; she only wished to be reassured asto Delavigne and his absurd threat----"

Madame de Léra stopped speaking a moment, and then she went on--

"Madame d'Elphis had just then become the rage, and so Jeanne decided toconsult her, although the woman charged a higher fee than, I understand, the other fortune-tellers were then doing. When the two sisters foundthemselves there, my married niece bargained that the séance should behalf-price, as Jeanne only wished to stay a very few minutes, and to askbut one question. After the bargain was concluded, Jeanne, it seems, observed--the story of the interview has been told to me, and before me, many many times--that she hoped the fortune-teller would take as muchtrouble as if she had paid the full fee. On this the woman replied, witha rather malignant smile, 'I can assure Mademoiselle that she will haveplenty for her money!'

"Then began the séance. La d'Elphis gave, as those sorts of peoplealways do, a marvellously accurate account of the poor child'spast, --the simple, virginal past of a very young girl, --but when it cameto the future, she declared that her vision had become blurred, and thatshe could see nothing! Nothing! Nothing! Both the sisters pressed her tosay more, to predict something of the future; and at last, speaking veryreluctantly, she admitted that she saw Jeanne, pale, deathly pale, cladin a wedding-dress, and she also evoked a wonderful vision of whiteflowers. .. . "

Madame de Léra looked up at her visitor, but Vanderlyn made no comment;and so she went on:--

"Then, with some confusion, Jeanne summoned up courage to ask the onequestion she had come there to ask. The answer came at once, and wasmore than reassuring: 'As to the man concerning whom you are soanxious, ' said Madame d'Elphis, 'you may count on his fidelity. Theyears will go on and others who loved you will forget you--but he willever remember. ' 'Then nothing will happen to him to-morrow?' askedJeanne eagerly. 'To-morrow?' replied the woman, mysteriously, 'To-morrowI see him plunged in deep grief, and yet that which has brought him thisawful sorrow will not perhaps be wholly regretted by him. '

"My poor little niece, if rather piqued, was yet much relieved, and thetwo sisters left the presence of this horrible, sinister creature. "

Madame de Léra passed her hand with a nervous movement over hermouth--"It was while they were actually driving home from this séancewith La d'Elphis that the terrible accident, which you of courseremember, occurred, --an accident which resulted in the younger sister'sdeath, while the elder miraculously escaped unhurt. Jeanne was buried inher wedding-dress--and the flowers--you recall the wonderful flowers?The woman's predictions as to Delavigne's constancy came strangely true;who now remembers Jeanne, save her poor mother--and Delavigne?"

"Yes, it's a very curious, striking story, " said Vanderlyn, slowly, "but--forgive me for saying so--if your niece's marriage had taken placeon the morrow, would anything of all this have been remembered by eitherherself or her sister? The predictions of Madame d'Elphis were of a kindwhich it would be safe to make of any French girl, belonging to yourworld, on the eve of her marriage----"

He stopped abruptly. In his wearied and yet morbidly active mind, anidea, a suggestion, of which he was half-ashamed, was beginning togerminate. 

"I should be grateful, " he said, slowly, "if you can tell me somethingmore about La d'Elphis. I am quite sure that I shall not be able toprevent an interview between her and Pargeter, --but still somethingmight be done--Is she respectable? Can she, for example, "--his eyesdropped, --"be bribed?"

Madame de Léra looked at Vanderlyn keenly. Perhaps she saw farther intohis mind than an American or an Englishwoman would have done. 

"All these sorts of people can be bribed, " she said, quietly. "As to herprivate life, I know nothing of it, but either of my nephews would beable to tell you whatever is known of her, for since that tragic affairour family have always taken a morbid interest in La d'Elphis. Would youlike to know something about her now, at once? Shall I send for mynephew?"

In answer to Vanderlyn's look, rather than to his muttered assent, Madame de Léra left the room. 

During the few moments of her absence, a plan began to elaborate itselfwith insistent clearness in Vanderlyn's mind; he saw, or thought he saw, that here might be an issue out of his terrible dilemma. And yet, evenwhile so seeing the way become clear before him, he felt a deep, instinctive repugnance from the method which would have to beemployed. .. . 

There came the sound of footsteps, and, turning his back to the window, he prepared himself for the inevitable question with which, during thelast three days, almost everyone he met had greeted him. 

But the youth who came into the room with Madame de Léra, if a typicalParisian in the matter of his careful, rather foppish, dress, and in hisbored expression, yet showed that he was possessed of the old-fashionedgood breeding which is still to be found in France, if only in thatpeculiar section of French society known collectively as "the faubourg. "Jacques de Léra, alone among the many men whom Vanderlyn had come acrosssince the disappearance of Mrs. Pargeter had become the talk of thetown, made no allusion to the mystery, and asked no puerile question ofthe man who was known to be her friend. 

"Mr. Vanderlyn has been asking me what I knew of the fortune-teller, Madame d'Elphis. But, beyond the story concerning your poor cousinJeanne, I know nothing. You, Jacques, will doubtless be able to tell ussomething of her. Is it true, for instance, that she is sometimesemployed by the police? I seem to have heard so--not lately, but longago?"

"They say so, " said Jacques de Léra, casting a quick glance atVanderlyn. "They say she helped to catch Pranzini. Extraordinary storiesare told of her gifts. But none of us have ever been at all anxious toconsult her--after poor Jeanne's affair. You may have seen her, "--heturned to Vanderlyn, --"for she's sometimes at first nights and atprivate views. She's by way of being artistic and cultivated; and thoughshe's strikingly handsome, she dresses oddly--poses as a Muse. "

"She must make a great deal of money, " said Madame de Léra, thoughtfully; with a half smile she asked her nephew the question: "Isthere a Monsieur d'Elphis? Are there infant oracles?"

Jacques burst out laughing, and both Vanderlyn and Madame de Lérastarted. It was the first time for many days that they had heard thesound of simple human laughter. 

"My dear aunt, " said the young man, chuckling, "the husband--_qua_husband--is, I assure you, an unknown animal in that strange underworldof which our beautiful city is the chosen Mecca. No, no, Madame d'Elphisdoes not waste her time in producing little oracles! If you wish to hearthe truth, I mean the whole truth, I will tell it you. "

And then, as Madame de Léra nodded her head, he added, more seriously, "La d'Elphis is one of two sisters, the daughters of a very respectablenotary at Orange. Both threw their caps over the windmill, the one tobecome an unsuccessful actress, the other a successful soothsayer. Lad'Elphis has one virtue--she is a devoted sister, and lives with theother's _smalah_. As to her own private life, she has been for manyyears the friend of Achille de Florac. She became acquainted with himnot long before his final crash; who knows, perhaps she helped toprecipitate it! It is to be hoped she did, for since then he haspractically lived on her. And so, my dear aunt, she is in a sense ourcousin _de la main gauche_!"

Vanderlyn looked away from Madame de Léra. He was sorry the young manhad been so frank, for the Marquis de Florac was not only by birth amember of her circle, but he was, as Jacques rather cruelly pointed out, a connection of the de Léra family. 

"Poor creature!" exclaimed Adèle de Léra; her voice was filled withinvoluntary pity. 

"Yes, " continued Jacques, in answer to her look, "you may well say 'poorcreature!' For it's from La d'Elphis that our disreputable cousin drawsthe major part of his uncertain revenues. When Paris is credulous, hiscredit goes up, and he has plenty of money to play with. I'm told thatthe other night he lost ten thousand francs at 'Monaco Junior'!"

Vanderlyn made a slight movement. "Yes, " he said, "that is true, --I wasthere. "

"In the lean months, " continued Jacques, who did not often find hisconversation listened to with such respect and attention as was now thecase, "I mean, of course, in the summer--poor Florac has to retrench, but La d'Elphis does not remain idle. She goes to Aix, to Vichy, toDieppe for the Grande Semaine, --in fact, wherever rich foreignersgather; and wherever she goes she finds plenty eager to consult her!"

"Is that all you wanted to know?" said Madame de Léra to Vanderlyn. 

"Yes, " he said, slowly, "that is all. I did not know--I had noidea--that our poor old world was still so credulous!"

XI. 

As Vanderlyn walked away from Madame de Léra's door, the plan, of whichthe first outline had come to him while she was telling the strangestory concerning the fortune-teller and her niece, had taken finalshape; and it now impressed itself upon him as the only way out of histerrible dilemma. 

Vanderlyn was by nature a truthful man, and in spite of the ambiguousnature of his relations with Margaret Pargeter, he had never beencompelled to lie in defence of their friendship. Even during these lastfew days, he had as far as was possible avoided untruth, and only to oneperson, that is, to the Prefect of Police, had he lied--lieddesperately, and lied successfully. This was why, even while tellinghimself that he had at last found a way in which to convey the truth toPargeter, he felt a deep repugnance from the methods which he saw hewould be compelled to employ. 

More than once the American diplomatist had had occasion to take part indelicate negotiations with one of those nameless, countrylessindividuals, whose ideal it is to be in the pay of a foreign Embassy, and who always set on their ignoble services a far higher value thanthose services generally deserve. But Vanderlyn belonged to the type ofman who finds it far easier to fight for others, and especially for hiscountry, than for himself. Still, in this case, was he not fighting forMargaret Pargeter? For what he knew she valued far more than lifeitself--her honour. What he was about to do was hateful to him--he wasaware how severely he would have judged such conduct in another--but itseemed the only way, a way made miraculously possible by thesuperstitious folly of Tom Pargeter. 

The offer Vanderlyn was about to convey to Madame d'Elphis was quitesimple; in exchange for saying a very few words to Tom Pargeter, --wordswhich would add greatly to the belief the millionaire already possessedin what he took to be her extraordinary gifts of divination, --thesoothsayer would receive ten thousand francs. 

There need be no difficulty even as to the words she should use toreveal the truth; Vanderlyn had cut out from the _Petit Journal_ theparagraph which told of the strange discovery made three nights beforeat Orange. He would inform her that Mr. Pargeter's friends, havingassured themselves that the unknown woman in question was Mrs. Pargeter, desired to break the sad news through her, instead of in a morecommonplace fashion. 

Vanderlyn knew enough of that curious underworld of Paris which preys onwealthy foreigners, to feel sure that this would not be the first timethat Madame d'Elphis had been persuaded, in her own interest, to add theagreeable ingredient of certainty to one of her predictions. Thediplomatist also believed he could carry through the negotiation withouteither revealing his identity, or giving the soothsayer any clue to hisreason for making her so strange a proposal. 

Having made his plan, Vanderlyn found it remarkably easy to carry out. 

In London, such a man as himself would have found it difficult to haveascertained at a moment's notice the address of even a famous palmist orfortune-teller. But in everything to do with social life Paris is highlyorganised, London singularly chaotic. 

On reaching home, he at once discovered, with a certain bitteramusement, that Madame d'Elphis disdained the artifices with which shemight reasonably have surrounded her mysterious craft. Not only were hername, address, and even hours of consultation, to be found in the "ToutParis, " but there also was inscribed her telephone number. 

Vanderlyn hated the telephone. He never used it unless he was compelledto do so; but now he went through the weary, odious preliminaries with acertain eagerness--"Alo! Alo! Alo!"

At last a woman's voice answered, "Yes--yes. Who is it?"

"Can Madame d'Elphis receive a client this evening?"

There was a pause. Then he heard a question asked, a murmured answer ofwhich the sense evaded him, and then a refusal, --not, he fancied, a verydecided refusal, --followed by a discreet attempt to discover his name, his nationality, his address, with a suggestion that Madame d'Elphiswould be at his disposal the next morning. 

A touch of doubt in the quick, hesitating accents of the unseen womanemboldened Vanderlyn. He conveyed, civilly and clearly, that he wasquite prepared to offer a very special fee for the favour he was asking;and he indicated that, though he had been told the usual price of aséance was fifty francs, he--the mysterious stranger who was speaking toMadame d'Elphis through the telephone--was so exceedingly anxious to bereceived by her that evening that he would pay a fancy fee, --in fact asmuch as a thousand francs, --for the privilege of consulting the famousfortune-teller. 

To Vanderlyn's vexation and surprise, there followed a long pause. 

At last came the answer, the expected assent; but it was couched inwords which surprised and vaguely disquieted him. 

"Very well, sir, my sister will be ready to receive you at eight o'clockto-night; but she is going out, so she will not be able to give you aprolonged séance. "

Then he had not been speaking to the soothsayer herself? Vanderlyn feltvaguely disquieted and discomfited. He had counted on having to take butone person into his half-confidence; and then--well, he had told himselfwhile at the telephone that he would not find it difficult to concludethe bargain he desired to make with the woman whose highly-pitched, affected voice had given him, or so he had thought, the clue to a venalpersonality. 

 * * * * *

It was with a feeling of considerable excitement and curiosity that thediplomatist, that same evening, walked up the quiet, now deserted, streets where dwelt the most famous of Parisian fortune-tellers. 

Madame d'Elphis had chosen a prosaic setting for the scene of hermysteries, for the large white house looked very new, a huge wedge ofmodern ugliness in the pretty old street, its ugliness made the moreapparent by its proximity to one of those leafy gardens which form oasesof fragrant stillness in the more ancient quarters of the town. 

A curt answer was given by the concierge in reply to Vanderlyn's enquiryfor Madame d'Elphis. "Walk through the courtyard; the person you seekoccupies the entresol of the house you will see there. "

And then he saw that lying back, quite concealed from the street, wasanother and very different type of dwelling, and one far more suited tothe requirements of even a latter-day soothsayer. 

As he made his way over the dimly-lighted, ill-paved court whichseparated the new building, that giving onto the street, from theseventeenth-century mansion, Vanderlyn realised that his firstimpression had been quite erroneous. Madame d'Elphis had evidentlygauged, and that very closely, the effect she desired to produce on herpatrons. Even in the daytime the mansarded house which now gloomedbefore him must look secret, mysterious. Behind such narrow latticedwindows might well have dwelt Cagliostro, or, further back, the moresinister figure of La Voison. 

But something of this feeling left him as he passed through the doorwhich gave access to the old house; and, as he began to walk up theshabby gas-lit staircase, he felt that his repugnant task would be aneasy one. The woman who, living here, allowed herself the luxury of sucha lover as was the Marquis de Florac, would not--nay, couldnot--hesitate before such an offer as ten thousand francs. 

There was but one door on the entresol, and on its panel was inscribedin small gold letters the word "d'Elphis. " As Vanderlyn rang the bell, the odd name gleamed at him in the gas-light. 

There followed a considerable delay, but at last he saw a face peeringat him through the little grating--significantly styled a _Judas_, anddoubtless dating from the Revolution, --still to be found in many anold-fashioned Parisian front-door. 

The inspection having apparently proved satisfactory, the door opened, and Vanderlyn was admitted, by a young _bonne à tout faire_, into a hallfilled with a strong smell of cooking, a smell that made it clear thatMadame d'Elphis and her family--her _smalah_, as Jacques de Léra hadcalled them--had the true Southern love of garlic. 

Without asking his name or business, the servant showed him straightinto a square, gold-and-white salon. Standing there, forgetful for amoment of his distasteful errand, Vanderlyn looked about him withmingled contempt and disgust, for his eyes, trained to observe, had atonce become aware that the note of this room was showy vulgarity. Thefurniture was a mixture of imitation Louis XV. And sham Empire. On thewoven tapestry sofa lay a child's toy, once costly, but now broken. 

How amazing the fact that here, amid these pretentiously ugly andcommonplace surroundings, innumerable human beings had stood, and wouldstand, trembling with fear, suspense, and hope! Vanderlyn remindedhimself that here also Tom Pargeter, a man accustomed to measureeverything by the money standard, had waited many a time in the surebelief that this was the ante-chamber to august and awe-inspiringmysteries; here, all unknowing of what the future held, he would cometo-morrow morning, to learn, for once, the truth--the terribletruth--from the charlatan to whom he, poor fool, pinned his faith. 

Suddenly a door opened, and Vanderlyn turned round with eager curiosity, a curiosity which became merged in astonishment. The woman advancingtowards him made her vulgar surroundings sink into blurredinsignificance; for Madame d'Elphis, with her slight, sinuous figure, draped in a red peplum, her pale face lit by dark tragic eyes, lookedthe sybil to the life. .. . 

Vanderlyn bowed, with voluntary deference. "Monsieur, " she said, in alow, deep voice, "I must ask you to follow me; this is my sister's_appartement_. I live next door. "

She preceding him, they walked through an untidy dining-room of whichthe furniture--the sham Renaissance chairs and walnut-woodbuffet--looked strangely alien to Vanderlyn's guide, into a short, ill-lighted passage, which terminated in a locked, handleless door. 

The woman whom he now knew to be Madame d'Elphis turned, and, facingVanderlyn, for the first time allowed her melancholy eyes to rest fullon her unknown visitor. 

"You have your stick, your hat?" she asked. "Yes?--that is well; forwhen our séance is over, you will leave by another way, a way whichleads into the garden, and so into the street. "

She unlocked the door, and he followed her into a large book-linedstudy--masculine in its sober colouring and simple furnishings. Abovethe mantelpiece was arranged a trophy of swords and fencing-sticks;opposite hung a superb painting by Henner. Vanderlyn remembered havingseen this picture exhibited in the Salon some five years before. It hadbeen shown under the title "The Crystal-Gazer, " and it was even now anadmirable portrait of his hostess, for so, unconsciously, had Vanderlynbegun to regard the woman who was so little like what he had expected tofind her. 

Madame d'Elphis beckoned to him to follow her into yet another, and amuch smaller, room. Ah! This was evidently the place where she pursuedher strange calling; for here--so Vanderlyn, trying to combat the eerieimpression she produced on him, sardonically told himself--were thestage properties of her singular craft. 

The high walls were hung with red cloth, against which gleamedinnumerable plaster casts of hands. The only furniture consisted of around, polished table, which took up a good deal of the space in theroom; on the table stood an old-fashioned lamp, and in the middle of thecircle of light cast by the lamp on its shining surface, a round crystalball. Two chairs were drawn up to the table. 

An extraordinary sensation of awe--of vague disquiet--crept overLaurence Vanderlyn; he suddenly remembered the tragic story of Jeanne deLéra. Was it here that the sinister interview with the doomed girl hadtaken place?

It was Madame d'Elphis who broke the long silence:--

"I must ask you, Monsieur, " she said, stiffly, "to depose the fee on thetable. It is the custom. "

Vanderlyn's thin nervous hand shot up to his mouth to hide a smile; theeerie feeling which had so curiously possessed him dropped away, leavinghim slightly ashamed. 

"Poor woman, " he said to himself, "she cannot even divine that I am anhonest man!"

He bent his head gravely, and took the roll of notes with which he hadcome provided out of his pocket. He placed a thousand-franc note on thetable. "What a fool she must think me!" he mentally exclaimed; then camethe consoling reflection, "But she won't think me a fool for long. "

Madame d'Elphis scarcely glanced at the thousand-franc note; she left itlying where Vanderlyn had put it. "Will you please sit down, Monsieur?"she said. 

Vanderlyn rather reluctantly obeyed her. As she seated herself oppositeto him, he was struck by the sad intensity of her face; he told himselfthat she had once been--nay, that she was still--beautiful, but it wasthe tortured beauty of a woman who lives by and through her emotions. 

He also realised that his task would not be quite as easy as he hadhoped it would be; the manner of La d'Elphis was cold, correct, andladylike--no other word would serve--to the point of severity. He sawthat he would have to word his offer of a bribe in as least offensive afashion as was possible. But while he was trying to find a sentence withwhich to embark on the delicate negotiation, he suddenly felt his lefthand grasped and turned over, with a firm and yet impersonal touch. 

The centre of the soothsayer's cool palm rested itself on the ring--hismother's wedding ring--loosely encircling his little finger, and thenMadame d'Elphis began speaking in a low, quiet, and yet hesitating, voice, --a voice which suddenly recalled to her listener her Southernbirth and breeding; it was strangely unlike the accents in which she hadasked him to produce the promised fee. 

Surprise, a growing, ever-deepening surprise, kept Vanderlyn silent. Hesoon forgot completely, for the time being, the business which hadbrought him there. 

"For you the crystal, " she whispered, "for others the Grand Jeu. Youhave not come, as others do, to learn the future; you do not care whathappens to you--now. "

She waited a moment, then, "the ring brings with it two visions, " shesaid, fixing her eyes on the polished depths before her. "Visions oflove and death--of pain and parting; one, if clear, yet recedes far intothe past. .. . "

She raised her voice, and began speaking in a monotonous recitative:

"I see you with a woman standing in a garden; behind you both is a greatexpanse of water. She is so like you that I think she must be yourmother. She wears her grey hair in Madonna bands; she puts her armsround your neck; as she does so, I see on her left hand one ring--thering which you are now wearing, and which I am now touching. She, yourmother, is bidding you good-bye, she knows that she will never see youagain, but you do not know it, so she smiles, for she is a bravewoman----"

Madame d'Elphis stopped speaking. Vanderlyn stared at her with a senseof growing excitement and amazement; he was telling himself that thiswoman undoubtedly possessed the power of reading not only the minds, buteven the emotional memories, of those who came to consult her. .. . Yes, it was true; his last parting with his mother had been out of doors, inthe garden of their own family house on the shores of Lake Champlain. 

As he looked fixedly at the crystal-gazer's downcast eyes, his ownemotions seemed to become reflected in her countenance. She grasped hishand with a firmer, a more convulsive pressure. 

"I see you again, " she exclaimed, "and again with a woman! This visionis very clear; it evokes the immediate past--almost the present. Thewoman is young; her hair is fair, and in a cloud about her head. You aretogether on a journey. It is night----"

Madame d'Elphis stopped speaking abruptly; she looked up at Vanderlyn, and he saw that her dark eyes were brimming with tears, her mouthquivering. 

"Do you wish me to describe what I see?" she asked, in an almostinaudible voice. 

"No, " said Vanderlyn, hoarsely, --he seemed to feel Peggy's arms abouthis neck, her soft lips brushing his cheek. 

The soothsayer bent down till her face was within a few inches of thepolished surface into which she was gazing. 

"Now she is lying down, " she whispered. "Her face is turned away. Is sheasleep? No, she is dead!--dead!"

"Can you see her now?" asked Vanderlyn. "For God's sake tell me whereshe is! Can I hope to see her again--once more?"

Madame d'Elphis withdrew her hand from that of Vanderlyn. 

"You will only see her face, " she answered, slowly, "through thecoffin-lid. That you will see. As to where she is now--I see herclearly, and yet, "--she went on, as if to herself, "nay, but that'simpossible! I see her, " she went on, raising her voice, "laid out forburial under a shed in a beautiful garden. The garden is that of Dr. Fortoul's house at Orange. At the head of the pallet on which she liesthere are two blessed candles; a nun kneels on the ground. Stay, --who isthat coming in from the garden? It is the wife of the doctor, it isMadame Fortoul, "--again there came a note of wavering doubt into thevoice of the crystal-gazer. "She is whispering to the nun, and I hearher words; she says, 'Poor child, she is young, too young to have diedlike this, alone. I am having a mass said for her soul to-morrowmorning. '"

Madame d'Elphis looked up. Her large eyes, of which the lids wereslightly reddened, rested on Vanderlyn's pale, drawn face. 

"Monsieur, " she said, in a low, reluctant voice, "to be honest with you, I fear I have been leading you astray. During the last few moments it ismy own past life that has been rising before me, not the present of thispoor dead woman. When I am tired--and I am very tired to-night--somesuch trick is sometimes played me. I was born at Orange; as a child Ispent many hours in the beautiful garden which just now rose up beforeme; I once saw a dead body in that shed--Madame Fortoul, who is devout, often has masses said for those who meet with sudden deaths and whosebodies are brought to her husband. "

The soothsayer rose from her chair. 

"If you will come to me to-morrow, " she said, "bringing with yousomething which belonged to this lady, I am sure I shall be able to tellyou all you wish to know. For that second séance, " she added hurriedly, "I shall of course ask no further fee. "

Vanderlyn, waking as from a dream, heard sounds in the other room, thecoming and going of a man's footsteps. He also got up. 

"Madame, " he said, quietly, "I thank you from my heart. I recognise thetruth of all you have told me, _with one paramount exception_. It istrue that the woman whom you saw lying dead is now in the house of Dr. Fortoul at Orange; the fact that you once knew the place is anaccident--and nothing but an accident. You have, however, Madame, madeone strange mistake. "

He took out of his pocket and held in his hand the large open envelopecontaining, in addition to the remainder of the notes he had brought, the slip he had cut from the newspaper. "Here is the proof that all youhave seen is true, " he repeated, "with one exception--_This lady wasalone in the train_. It is important that this should be thoroughlyunderstood by you, for to-morrow you will be called upon to testify tothe fact. "

Madame d'Elphis stiffened into deep attention. 

"To-morrow morning, " continued Vanderlyn, very deliberately, "one ofyour regular clients is coming to ask you to assist him to solve aterrible mystery. I will tell you his name--it is Mr. Pargeter, thewell-known sportsman. He is coming to ask you to help him to findMrs. Pargeter, who some days ago mysteriously disappeared. Thislady's death, but he does not yet know it, took place while she wastravelling--travelling alone. I repeat, Madame, that she was_alone--quite alone--on her fatal journey_. "

Vanderlyn stopped speaking a moment; then his voice lowered, becametroubled and beseeching. 

"Once you have revealed the truth to Mr. Pargeter, --and he will believeimplicitly all you say, --then, Madame, you will not only haveaccomplished a good action, but a sum, bringing the fee for the séancewhich is just concluded up to ten thousand francs, will be placed atyour disposal by me. "

Madame d'Elphis looked long and searchingly at the man standing beforeher. 

"Monsieur, " she said, "will you give me your word that the death of Mrs. Pargeter was as this paper declares it to have been--that is to say, anatural death?"

"Yes, " answered Vanderlyn, "she knew that she would die in thisway--suddenly. "

"Then, " said the fortune-teller, coldly, "I will do as you desire. "

Vanderlyn, following a sudden impulse, put the envelope he held in hishand on the table. "Here is the fee, " he said, briefly. "I know that Ican trust in your discretion, your loyalty, --may I add, Madame, in yourkindness?"

"I am ashamed, " she whispered, "ashamed to take this money. " She claspedher hands together in an unconscious gesture of supplication, and thenasked, with a curious childish directness, "It is a great deal--can youafford it, Monsieur?"

"Yes, " he said, hastily; the suffering, shamed expression on her facemoved him strangely. 

"When you next see Mr. Pargeter, " she murmured, "you shall have writtenproof that I have carried out your wish. "

She tapped the table twice, sharply, --then led the way into the largerroom. It was empty, but Vanderlyn, even as he entered, saw a doorclosing quietly. 

Madame d'Elphis walked across to an un-curtained window; she opened itand stepped through on to a broad terrace balcony. 

"Walk down the iron stairway, " she said, in a low voice, "there are notmany steps. A little door leads from the garden below straight into thestreet; the door has been left unlocked to-night. "

Vanderlyn held out his hand; she took it and held it for a moment. "Ah!"she said, softly, "would that _I_ had died when I was still young, stillbeautiful, still loved!--"

XII. 

The bright May sun was pouring into Tom Pargeter's large smoking-room, making more alive and vivid the fantastic and brilliantly-colouredposters lining the walls. 

Laurence Vanderlyn, standing there in a peopled solitude, caught aglimpse of his own strained and tired face in a mirror which filled upthe space between two windows, and what he saw startled him, for itseemed to him that none could look at his countenance and not seewritten there the tale of his anguish, remorse, and suspense. And yet heknew that now his ordeal was drawing to a close; in a few momentsPargeter was due to return from his interview with Madame d'Elphis. 

Walking up and down the sunny room which held for him such agonisingmemories of the long hours spent there during the last three days in TomPargeter's company, Vanderlyn lived again every moment of his ownstrange interview with the soothsayer. The impression of sincerity whichMadame d'Elphis had produced on him had now had time to fade, and heasked himself with nervous dread whether she was, after all, likely todo what she had promised. Nay, was it in her power to lie, --or rather totell the half-truth which was all that he had asked her to tell?

At last there came the sound of the front-door of the villa opening, shutting; and then those made by Pargeter's quick, short footstepsstriking the marble floor of the hall, and echoing through the silenthouse. 

Vanderlyn stopped short in his restless pacing. He turned and waited. 

The door was flung open, and Pargeter came in. Quietly shutting the doorbehind him, he walked down the room to where the other man, with hisback to the window, stood waiting for him. The three days and nightswhich had carved indelible lines on the American's already seamed face, had left Pargeter's untouched; just now he looked grave, subdued, buthis face had lost the expression of perplexed anger and anxiety whichhad alone betrayed the varying emotions he had experienced since thedisappearance of his wife. 

At last, when close to Vanderlyn, he spoke--in a low, gruff whisper. "Grid!" he exclaimed, "Grid, old man, don't be shocked! La d'Elphis saysthat Peggy's dead--that she's been dead three days!"

Vanderlyn could not speak. He stared dumbly at the other, and as herealised the relief, almost the joy, in Pargeter's voice, there cameover him a horrible impulse to strike--and then to flee. 

"There, you can see it for yourself--" Pargeter held out, with fingerstwitching with excitement, a sheet of note-paper. "La d'Elphis wrote itall down! I didn't see her--she's ill. But this is not the first timeI've had to work her in that way, and it does just as well. Her sistermanaged everything, --she took her in one of Peggy's gloves which I'dbrought with me. "

Vanderlyn shuddered. He opened his mouth, but no words would come. Thenhe looked down at the sheet of paper Pargeter had handed him:--

 "The person to whom this glove belonged has been dead three days. She died on a journey--alone. Think of the bridal flower, --it will guide you to where she now lies waiting for those who loved her to claim her. "

Pargeter laid one hand on Vanderlyn's arm--with the other he took out ofone of his pockets a sheaf of thin slips of paper. The American knewthem to contain accounts of accidents and untoward occurrencesregistered at the Prefecture of Police. 

Pargeter detached one of the slips and laid it across the sheet of paperon which Madame d'Elphis had written her laconic message:--

"Look--look at _this_, Grid! And don't say again I'm a fool forbelieving in La d'Elphis! I've had this since the day before yesterday;but I didn't bother to show it to you, for I didn't think anything ofit--I shouldn't now, but for La d'Elphis! But do look--'the body of ayoung, fair woman found in a train at _Orange_, '--'the bridal flower, 'as La d'Elphis says--eh, what?"

But still Vanderlyn did not speak. 

"I've thought it all out, " Pargeter went on, excitedly. "Peggy wasdriven to the wrong station--see? Got into the wrong train--andthen--then, Grid, when she found out what she'd done, she gotupset----" For the first time a note of awe, of horror, came into hisvoice--"You see, my sister Sophy was right, after all; the poor girl'sheart was queer!"

"And what are you going to do now?" asked Vanderlyn in a low, dry tone. "Arrange for a special to Orange, I suppose? What time will you start, Tom? Would you like me to come with you?"

Pargeter reddened; his green eye blinked as if he felt suddenly blindedby the bright sun. 

"I'm not thinking of going myself, " he said, rather ashamedly. "Wherewould be the good of it? Her brother and that cousin of hers are sure towant to go. They can take Plimmer. The truth is--well, old man, I don'tfeel up to it! I've always had an awful horror of death. Peggy knew thatwell enough----" the colour faded from his face; he looked at the otherwith a nervous, dejected expression. 

"Tom, " said Vanderlyn, slowly, "why shouldn't _I_ go to Orange--withMadame de Léra? Why say anything to Peggy's people till we really know?"

For the first time Pargeter seemed moved to genuine human feeling. "Well, " he said, "you _are_ a good friend, Grid! I'll never forget howyou've stood by me during this worrying time. I wish I could dosomething for you in return----" he looked at the other doubtfully. Topoor Tom Pargeter, "doing something" always meant parting with money, and Laurence Vanderlyn was, if not rich, then quite well off. 

Vanderlyn's hand suddenly shook. He dropped the piece of paper he hadbeen holding. "Perhaps you'll let me have Jasper sometimes--in theholidays, " he said, huskily. 

"Lord, yes! Of course I will! There's nothing would please poor Peggymore! Then--then when will you start, Grid? I mean for Orange?"

"At once, " said Vanderlyn. Then he looked long, hesitatingly atPargeter, and the millionaire, with most unusual perspicacity, read andanswered the question contained in that strange, uncertain gaze. 

"Don't bring her back, Grid! I couldn't stand a big funeral here. Idon't want to hear any more about it than I can help! Of course, itisn't much good my going over to England _now_; but I won't stay inParis, I'll get away, --right away for a bit, on the yacht, --and takesome of the crowd with me. "

 * * * * *

No one ever knew the truth. To the Prefect of Police the mystery of thedisappearance of Mrs. Pargeter is still unsolved--unsolvable. When hemeets a pretty woman out at dinner he tells her the story--and asks herwhat she thinks. 

As for Laurence Vanderlyn, he has gone home--home to the old colonialhouse which was built by his great-grandfather, the friend of Franklin, on the shores of Lake Champlain. He never speaks of Peggy excepting toJasper; but to the lad he sometimes talks of her as if she were stillthere, still very near to them both, near enough to be grieved if herboy should ever forget that he had a mother who loved him dearly. 

THE END.