wood of the Parisians. On our return to the hotel,
Sylvia was all eagerness for a message, but there was none.

"Ah! he is discreet!" she exclaimed to me, when the _concierge_ had
given her a negative reply. "He fears to send me word openly."

At ten o'clock that night, however, she had exchanged her dinner gown
for a dark stuff dress, and, with a small black hat, and a boa about
her neck, she came to kiss me.

"I won't be very long, dearest," she said cheerily. "I'll get back the
instant I can. Don't worry after me. I shall be perfectly safe, I
assure you."

But recollections of Reckitt and his dastardly accomplice arose within
me, and I hardly accepted her assurance, even though I made pretence
of so doing.

For a few moments I held her in my arms tenderly, then releasing her,
she bade me _au revoir_ merrily, and we descended into the hall
together.

A taxi was called, and I heard her direct the driver to go to the
Boulevard Pereire. Then, waving her hand from the cab window, she
drove away.

Should I follow? To spy upon her would be a mean action. It would show
a lack of confidence, and would certainly irritate and annoy her. Yet
was she not in peril? Had she not long ago admitted herself to be in
some grave and mysterious danger?

I had only a single moment in which to decide. Somehow I felt impelled
to follow and watch that she came to no harm; yet, at the same time, I
knew that it was not right. She was my wife, and I dearly loved her
and trusted her. If discovered, my action would show her that I was
suspicious.

Still I felt distinctly apprehensive, and it was that apprehension
which caused me, a second later, to seize my hat, and, walking out of
the hotel, hail a passing taxi, and drive quickly to the quiet, highly
respectable boulevard to which she had directed her driver.

I suppose it was, perhaps, a quarter of an hour later when we turned
into the thoroughfare down the centre of which runs the railway in a
deep cutting. The houses were large ones, let out in fine flats, the
residences mostly of the professional and wealthier tradesman classes.

We went along, until presently I caught sight of another taxi standing
at the kerb. Therefore I dismissed mine, and, keeping well in the
shadow, sauntered along the boulevard, now quiet and deserted.

With great precaution I approached the standing taxi on the opposite
side of the way. There was nobody within. It was evidently awaiting
some one, and