about as little as possible.
He might meet and recognize you. Should I discover anything, or should
I want to see you, I will either telephone to you at your hotel, or we
will meet again--at this spot."

Thus it was arranged, and half an hour later we parted.

I walked back to my hotel, my thoughts occupied by the beautiful girl
who had suddenly so possessed me. Before me, by day and by night, rose
visions of the lovely countenance of that strange, half-bewildered
expression which was so pathetic and so mysterious. I recollected her
sweet smiles when we had talked in her mother's drawing-room in
Longridge Road, and I knew that my admiration had already ripened into
love.

But it was all so mysterious, so incredible indeed, that I hardly
dared reflect upon those amazing events of the immediate past.

The name of the great financier, De Gex, was one to conjure with all
over Europe. Since my night's adventure in Stretton Street I had
learnt much concerning him. His nationality was obscure. He posed as
an Englishman, but at the same time he was a Frenchman, an Italian,
and a Greek. His financial tentacles were spread throughout Europe.
Fabulously wealthy, he held a controlling interest in a number of
banks and great industrial concerns, and it was said that he knew the
capitals of the world as a milkman knows the streets of his particular
suburb.

Behind the smoke-clouds of great events his intriguing figure followed
unseen, unheralded, influencing dynasties through his secretaries and
agents--one of whom was Prime Minister of a foreign kingdom--and
financing bankrupt states.

Now and then he emerged from the retirement of the Villa Clementini
and would go to Paris, Brussels, or Rome, and there entertain most
lavishly Ministers and aristocrats of various nations, and frequently
give them presents at the dinner-table.

One man declared to me that Oswald De Gex was the friend of mighty
persons and the moulder of mighty events. He was a man of mystery who
quietly and in secret juggled the destinies of nations in his gilded
fingers. Wherever money has the power to speak there Oswald De Gex
would be found smiling an inscrutable mysterious smile, but always the
centre of intrigue and adventure.

To outwit and expose such a man I was determined.

Back in the hotel I stood at the window of my room, gazing out across
the busy plaza upon the fine Ministerio de la Gobernacion, with its
great clock upon the facade. The Gate