looked fresh and dainty. Her eyes were
bright and her face as smooth and unwrinkled as a child's.

"Bon jour," she cried gaily, "ah! but I am 'ungry! It is the air
of the country! I love so the country!"

"I hope you slept well, Madame!" said Desmond solicitously,
looking admiringly at her trim figure.

"Like a dead man," she replied with a little laugh, translating
the French idiom. "Shall we make a leetle promenade after the
dejeuner? And you shall show me your pretty English country,
voulez-vous? You see, I am dressed for le footing!"

She lifted a little brown foot.

They had a delightful luncheon together. Old Martha, who proved
to be quite a passable cook, waited on them. There was some
excellent Burgundy and a carafe of old brandy with the coffee.
Nur-el-Din was in her most gracious and captivating mood. She had
dropped all her arrogance of their last interview and seemed to
lay herself out to please. She had a keen sense of humor and
entertained Desmond vastly by her anecdotes of her stage career,
some not a little risque, but narrated with the greatest
bon-homie.

But, strongly attracted as he was to the girl, Desmond did not
let himself lose sight of his ultimate object. He let her run on
as gaily as she might but steadily, relentlessly he swung the
conversation round to her last engagement at the Palaceum. He
wanted to see if she would make any reference to the murder at
Seven Kings. If he could only bring in old Mackwayte's name, he
knew that the dancer must allude to the tragedy.

Then the unexpected happened. The girl introduced the old
comedian's name herself.

"The only pleasant memory I shall preserve of the Palaceum," she
said in French, "is my meeting with an old comrade of my youth.
Imagine, I had not seen him for nearly twenty years. Monsieur
Mackwayte, his name is, we used to call him Monsieur Arthur in
the old days when I was the child acrobat of the Dupont Troupe.
Such a charming fellow; and not a bit changed! He was doing a
deputy turn at the Palaceum on the last night I appeared there!
And he introduced me to his daughter! Une belle Anglaise! I shall
hope to see my old friend again when I go back to London!"

Desmond stared at her. If this were acting, the most hardened
criminal could not have carried it off better. He searched the
girl's face. It was frank and innocent. She ran on about
Mackwayte in the old days, his kindliness to everyone, his pretty
wife, without a shadow o