to be her father, and mine, for that
matter. Go ahead. This is Saturday afternoon, you know, and there's no
business stirring."

Spencer had to cover the ground a second time before everything was
made clear. At last the fateful letter was written. He promised to
call on Monday and learn how the project fared. Then he relieved the
cabman's anxiety, as the alley possessed a second exit, and was driven
to the Wellington Theater, where he secured a stall for that night's
performance of the Chinese musical comedy in which Miss Millicent
Jaques played the part of a British Admiral's daughter.

While Spencer was watching Helen's hostess cutting capers in a
Mandarin's palace, Helen herself was reading, over and over again, a
most wonderful letter that had fallen from her sky. It had all the
appearance of any ordinary missive. The King's face on a penny stamp,
or so much of it as was left uninjured by a postal smudge, looked
familiar enough, and both envelop and paper resembled those which had
brought her other communications from "The Firefly." But the text was
magic, rank necromancy. No wizard who ever dealt in black letter
treatises could have devised a more convincing proof of his occult
powers than this straightforward offer made by the editor of "The
Firefly." Four articles of five thousand words each,--tickets and 100
pounds awaiting her at a bank,--go to the Maloja-Kulm Hotel; leave
London at the earliest possible date; please send photographs and
suggestions for black-and-white illustrations of mountaineering and
society! What could it possibly mean?

At the third reading Helen began to convince herself that this rare
stroke of luck was really hers. The concluding paragraph shed light on
"The Firefly's" extraordinary outburst.

"As this commission heralds a new departure for the paper, I have
to ask you to be good enough not to make known the object of your
journey. In fact, it will be as well if you do not state your
whereabouts to any persons other than your near relatives. Of course,
all need for secrecy ceases with the appearance of your first article;
but by that time you will practically be on your way home again. I am
anxious to impress on you the importance of this instruction."

Helen found herein the germ of understanding. "The Firefly" meant to
boom itself on its Swiss correspondence; but even that darksome piece
of journalistic enterprise did not explain the princely munificence of
the hundred pounds.