d his private plantations in Ceylon. 'Who are you, may I ask?' he
demanded of his rescuer.

'If you please, sir, I'm Albert's wife.'

'Albert?'

'Albert Shawn, your detective, sir.'

'Of course you are!'

'You gave us a bedroom suite for a wedding present, sir.'

'Of course I did! By the way, where's Albert?'

'He's had an accident to his foot, and couldn't come to-day. You're less
pale than you were, sir. Take this other piece.'

Then Simon returned, empty-handed, and Lily's eye indicated to him her
real opinion of the value of a male in a crisis. She asked no questions
concerning the events which had ended in Hugo's collapse. She merely
dealt with the collapse, and in the intervals of dealing with it she
explained to Simon how she had waited and waited in the dome, and then
descended and tried in vain to enter the Safe Deposit, and been insulted
by the messenger-boy, and had finally drifted to the restaurant, where
she had caught sight of Hugo and himself, and guessed immediately that
something in the highest degree unusual had occurred.

'Come,' said Hugo at last, in curt command, 'I am better.'

He had recovered. He was Hugo again. And Simon was once more nothing but
his body servant, and Lily nothing but an ex-waitress who had married
rather well. He thanked Lily, and told her to go and look after her
husband as well as she had looked after him.

In the dome Simon ventured to show him the _Evening Herald_. And, having
read it, Hugo nodded his head and pressed his lips together. He had
ordered champagne and sandwiches, and was consuming them, at the same
time opening a series of yellow envelopes which lay on a table. These
latter were reports from his detective corps, which had accumulated
during the day.

'Get a sheet of plain paper,' he said to Simon, 'and write this letter.
Are you ready? Yes, it will do in pencil; I even prefer it in pencil.

'"DEAR SIR,

'"I have reason to think that you may be interested in some
extraordinary information which I have in my possession concerning
Camilla Tudor, who is supposed to have been buried at Brompton
Cemetery in July last year. If I am right, perhaps you will
accompany the bearer to my rooms. At present I will not disclose my
name.

'"Yours, etc."

'Put any initials you like. Address it to Louis Ravengar, Esquire. Now
listen to me. Go down to the auto garage, and choose a good man to take
the note instantly; a second