toff away, she knew not whither. She had not even the satisfaction of
feeling that she had been quite right in speaking to him as she had
spoken, and above all she feared lest he should believe, in spite of her
words, that in her own mind there was some shadow of suspicion left. But
he was gone. He would probably leave the house early in the morning, and
she might never see him again. What could she do but let her tears flow
down as freely as they could?

Late at night I sat in my room, reading by the light of the candles, and
watching the fire as it gradually died away in the grate. It was very
late, and I was beginning to think of going to bed, when some one
knocked at the door. It was Paul Patoff. I was very much surprised to
see him, and I suppose my face showed it, for he apologized for the
intrusion.

"Excuse me," he said. "It is very late, but could you spare me half an
hour before going to bed?"

"Certainly," I answered, noticing his pallor, and fancying that
something had happened.

"Thank you," said he. "I believe I have heard you say that you know
Constantinople very well?"

"Tolerably well--yes. I know many of the natives. I have been there very
often."

"I am going back there," said Patoff. "They sent me to Persia for a year
and more, and now I am to return to my old post. I want to ask your
advice about a very delicate matter. You know--or perhaps you do not
know--that my brother disappeared in Stamboul, a year ago last summer,
under very strange circumstances. I did all I could to find him, and the
ambassador did more. But we never discovered any trace of him. I have
made up my mind that I will not be disappointed this time."

"Could you tell me any of the details?" I asked.

Paul looked at me once, and hesitated. Then he settled himself in his
chair, and told me his story very much as I have told it, from the
afternoon of the day on which Alexander disappeared to the moment when
Paul left his mother at Teinach in the Black Forest. He told me also how
Professor Cutter had written to him his account of the accident at
Weissenstein, when Madame Patoff, as he said, had attempted to commit
suicide.

"Pardon me," I said, when he had reached this stage. "I do not believe
she tried to kill herself."

"Why not?" asked Patoff, in some surprise.

"I was the man with the rope. Cutter has never realized that you did not
know it."

Paul was very much astonished at the news, and looked at me as though