e promise of a fine if
somewhat blustery day.

Five pairs of eyes sought her face anxiously while the vessel was
warping to the quay opposite the Gare Maritime. They looked there for
tidings, and they were not disappointed.

"That's all right," said Vanrenen with an unwonted huskiness in his
voice. "Cynthia wouldn't smile if she hadn't good news."

"Thank God for that!" muttered the Earl, bending his head to examine a
landing ticket, the clear type of which he was utterly unable to read.

"I never thought for a minute that any Frenchman could kill George,"
cried Scarland cheerfully.

But the two women said nothing, could see nothing, and the white-faced
but smiling Cynthia standing near the shoreward end of the gangway had
vanished in a sudden mist.

Of course, Marigny was right when he foresaw that Vanrenen could not
meet either Medenham or any of his relatives for five minutes without
his "poor little cobweb of intrigue" being dissipated once and
forever.

With the marvelous insight that every woman possesses when dealing
with the affairs of the man she loves, Cynthia combined the eloquence
of an orator with the practiced skill of a clever lawyer in revealing
each turn and twist of the toils which had enveloped her since that
day in Paris when her father happened to suggest in Marigny's hearing
that she might utilize his hired car for a tour in England, while he
concluded the business that was detaining him in the French Capital.
Nothing escaped her; she unraveled every knot; Medenham's few broken
words, supplemented by the letter to his brother-in-law which he told
her to obtain from Dale, threw light on all the dark places.

But the gloom had fled. It was a keenly interested, almost
light-hearted, little party that walked through the sunshine to the
Hotel de la Plage.

* * * * *

Dale, abashed, sheepish, yet oddly confident that all was for the best
in a queer world, met the Earl of Fairholme later in the day; his
lordship, who had been pining for someone to pitch into, addressed him
sternly.

"This is a nice game you've been playing," he said. "I always thought
you were a man of steady habits, a little given to horse-racing
perhaps, but otherwise a decent member of the community."

"So I was before I met Viscount Medenham, my lord," was the daring
answer. For Dale was no fool, and he had long since seen how certain
apparently hostile forces had adapted themselves to ne