nt out, and
made his way through the glowing streets, abandoned to evening
pleasure-seekers. Entering her hotel, he took his seat in a far corner
of the dining-room whence he could see all entrances and exits. She
was not there. He ate little, quickly, watchfully. She did not come. He
lingered in the lounge over his coffee, drank two liqueurs of brandy.
But still she did not come. He went over to the keyboard and examined
the names. Number twelve, on the first floor! And he determined to
take the note up himself. He mounted red-carpeted stairs, past a little
salon; eight-ten-twelve! Should he knock, push the note under, or...?
He looked furtively round and turned the handle. The door opened, but
into a little space leading to another door; he knocked on that--no
answer. The door was locked. It fitted very closely to the floor; the
note would not go under. He thrust it back into his pocket, and stood
a moment listening. He felt somehow certain that she was not there.
And suddenly he came away, passing the little salon down the stairs. He
stopped at the bureau and said:

"Will you kindly see that Mrs. Heron has this note?"

"Madame Heron left to-day, Monsieur--suddenly, about three o'clock.
There was illness in her family."

Soames compressed his lips. "Oh!" he said; "do you know her address?"

"Non, Monsieur. England, I think."

Soames put the note back into his pocket and went out. He hailed an open
horse-cab which was passing.

"Drive me anywhere!"

The man, who, obviously, did not understand, smiled, and waved his whip.
And Soames was borne along in that little yellow-wheeled Victoria all
over star-shaped Paris, with here and there a pause, and the question,
"C'est par ici, Monsieur?" "No, go on," till the man gave it up in
despair, and the yellow-wheeled chariot continued to roll between the
tall, flat-fronted shuttered houses and plane-tree avenues--a little
Flying Dutchman of a cab.

'Like my life,' thought Soames, 'without object, on and on!'

CHAPTER II--IN THE WEB

Soames returned to England the following day, and on the third morning
received a visit from Mr. Polteed, who wore a flower and carried a brown
billycock hat. Soames motioned him to a seat.

"The news from the war is not so bad, is it?" said Mr. Polteed. "I hope
I see you well, sir."

"Thanks! quite."

Mr. Polteed leaned forward, smiled, opened his hand, looked into it, and
said softly:

"I think we've done your business for y