faced about in his seat and directed his glasses at our
box. Immediately upon this the curtain went up on the last act, and his
Excellency held up his hand to command silence.

"Madame," said Indiman, as he handed the Countess Gilda to her
carriage, "I swear to you that the blunder I have unintentionally
committed shall be atoned for. I ask but a hint--the slightest of
clews."

"With pleasure, monsieur. I give you, therefore, the third appearance
of the Queen of Spades. Au revoir! We sail to-morrow by the Cunarder."

The man with the disproportionate ears touched Indiman's elbow. "Beg
pardon, sir," he said, deferentially, "but I shall have to have a word
or two with you."

We drove to the Utinam Club and found a secluded corner. "Now, what is
it, officer?" said Indiman.

The detective looked rather sheepish. "I'm afraid we've made a mess of
it between us. Case of political blackmail, you see, and the young lady
thought she could handle it herself. And so she could have done if we
hadn't butted in, begging your pardon for so saying."

"Get to the point."

"Well, then, it's a question of a letter belonging to a great person in
Roosha--written to or by her don't matter. The letter is here in New
York, and it isn't a question of money with the holder, but power.
There's only one thing to do in that case--steal it, and the Countess
thought she could turn the trick. So she went over on the Rooshan East
Side and laid her pipes to stand next to the old party who holds the
precious document. At the Baron's request I was detailed from the
Central Office and instructed to keep my eyes on the young woman and my
hands off the case. 'Course, then, I couldn't do neither. I lost the
girl when you walked off with her at the house-smiths' bazaar, and then
I had to stick in my oar and answer your personal in the Herald. I laid
what I thought was a pretty smart trap. You fell into it, right enough."

"So you were the fellow who had me searched and held up at my own front
door," said Indiman. "Confound your impudence! What did you expect to
get?"

"Why, the letter, sir. I had figured it out that you was the
black-mailer."

"Oh, the deuce! And in the mean time the real article had been put on
his or her guard by all this hullabaloo, and the Countess Gilda's game
was blocked."

"That's it, sir. A mistake all round."

"I should think so. Well, there's nothing more to be done. That's all
you know about the case?"

"That's all