ly, he argued, the tramp ship had gone by way of the Madeiras,
and might soon be in the harbor of Funchal. If she took the southerly
track, she could go at once by a steamer that would give her a day
there, and, armed with letters he would send to the consulate, this
contingency could be probed, leaving him free to work at the other
end. If he learned anything first, she would learn of it at once by
wireless.

So, at last, he stood on a North River pier, and saw the girl waving
her good-by across the rail, until the gap of churning water had
widened and blurred the faces on the deck. Then, he turned and
hastened to make his own final arrangements for sailing by the
_Mauretania_ on the following day.

In Havre, he found himself utterly baffled. He haunted the
water-front, and browbeat the agents, all to no successful end.

In Paris, matters seemed to bode no better results. He first exhausted
the more probable points. Saxon's agent, the _commissaire de police_,
the consulate, the hospitals--he even made a melancholy visit to the
grewsome building where the morgue squats behind _Notre Dame_. Then he
began the almost endless round of hotels. His "taxi" sped about
through the swift, seemingly fluid currents of traffic, as a man in a
hurry can go only in Paris, the frictionless. The town was familiar to
him in most of its aspects, and he was able to work with the readiness
and certainty of one operating in accustomed haunts, commanding the
tongue and the methods. At last, he learned of the registry at the
Elysee Palace Hotel. He questioned the clerk, and that functionary
readily enough gave him the description of the gentleman who had so
inscribed himself. It was a description of the man he sought. Steele
fell into one grave error. He did not ask to see the signature itself.
"Where had Monsieur Saxon gone? To London. _Certainment_, he had taken
all his luggage with him. No, he had not spoken of returning to Paris.
Yes, monsieur seemed in excellent health."

So, Steele turned his search to London, and in London found himself
even more hopelessly mixed in baffling perplexity. He had learned only
one thing, and that one thing filled him with vague alarm. Saxon had
apparently been here. He had been to all seeming sane and well, and
had given his own name. His conduct was inexplicable. It was
inconceivable that he should have failed to communicate with Duska.
Steele cabled to America, thinking Saxon might have done so since