ad particular reasons for suspecting anyone who sought
to obtain access to the Grand Duke. These were diplomatic. And in the
second place I had suspicions of Zara el-Khala. These were personal.

Yes--so she called herself--Zara el-Khala, which in Arabic is
"Flower of the Desert." She professed to be an Egyptian, and certainly
she had the long, almond-shaped eyes of the East, but her white skin
betrayed her, and I knew that whilst she might possess Eastern blood,
she was more nearly allied to Europe than to Africa. It is my business
to note unusual matters, you understand, and I noticed that this
beautiful and accomplished woman of whom all Paris was beginning to
speak rapturously remained for many weeks at a small Montmartre
theatre. Her performance, which was unusually decorous for the type
of establishment at which she appeared, had not apparently led to an
engagement elsewhere.

This aroused the suspicions to which I have referred. In the character
of a vaudeville agent I called at the Montmartre theatre and was
informed by the management that Zara-el-Khala received no visitors,
professional or otherwise. A small but expensive car awaited her at
the stage door. My suspicions increased. I went away, but returned on
the following night, otherwise attired, and from a hiding-place which
I had selected on the previous evening I watched the dancer depart.

She came out so enveloped in furs and veils as to be unrecognizable,
and a Hindu wearing a chauffeur's uniform opened the door of the car
for her, and then, having arranged the rugs to her satisfaction,
mounted to the wheel and drove away.

I traced the car. It had been hired for the purpose of taking Zara
el-Khala from her hotel--to the theatre and home nightly. I sent a
man to call upon her at the hotel--in order to obtain press material,
ostensibly. She declined to see him. I became really interested. I
sent her a choice bouquet, having the card of a nobleman attached to
it, together with a message of respectful admiration. It was returned.
I prevailed upon one of the most handsome and gallant cavalry officers
in Paris to endeavour to make her acquaintance. He was rebuffed.

_Eh bien!_ I knew then that Mlle. Zara of the Desert was unusual.

You will at once perceive that when I heard from the worthy Casimir
how this unapproachable lady had actually written to the Grand Duke
Ivan and had gone so far as to send him her photograph, I became
excited. It appeared to