B. gave up the task of questioning him in sheer despair.

The next morning at daybreak the prisoner was aroused and told to dress.
He was taken out to where a motor car was awaiting him, and a few
moments later he was speeding on the way to Dover. Two detective
officers placed him on a steamer and accompanied him to Calais. At
Calais they took a courteous leave of him, handing him a hundred francs
and the information in his own tongue that he had been deported on an
order from the Home Secretary, obtained at midnight the previous night.

The prisoner took his departure with some eagerness and spent the
greater portion of his hundred francs in addressing a telegram to
Poltavo.

T. B. Smith, who knew that telegram would come, was sitting in the
Continental instrument room of the General Post Office when it arrived.
He was handed a copy of the telegram and read it. Then he smiled.

"Thank you," he said, as he passed it back to the Superintendent of the
department, "this may now be transmitted for delivery. I know all I want
to know."

Poltavo received the message an hour later, and having read it, cursed
his subordinate's indiscretion, for the message was in Italian, plain
for everybody to read who understood that language, and its purport easy
to understand for anybody who had a knowledge of the facts.

He waited all that day for a visit from the police, and when T. B.
arrived in the evening Poltavo was ready with an excuse and an
explanation. But neither excuse nor explanation was asked for. T. B.'s
questions had to do with something quite different, namely the new Mrs.
Doughton and her vanished fortune.

"I was in the confidence of Mr. Farrington," said Poltavo, relieved to
find the visit had nothing to do with that which he most dreaded, "but I
was amazed to discover that the safe was empty. It was a tremendous
tragedy for the poor young lady. She is in Paris now with her husband,"
he added.

T. B. nodded.

"Perhaps you will give me their address?" he asked.

"With pleasure," said Count Poltavo, reaching for his address book.

"I may be going to Paris myself to-morrow," T. B. went on, "and I will
look these young people up. I suppose it is not the correct thing for
any one to call upon honeymoon couples, but a police officer has
privileges."

There was an exchange of smiles. Poltavo was almost exhilarated that T.
B.'s visit had nothing to do with him personally. A respect, which
amounted almost to fear,