ed queer. I guessed the door would be locked, but I didn't
try it. There were some battered old pictures on the walls, representing
scenes from Faust."

Jane's two listeners gave a simultaneous "Ah!" The girl nodded.

"Yes--it was the place in Soho where Mr. Beresford was imprisoned. Of
course, at the time I didn't even know if I was in London. One thing was
worrying me dreadfully, but my heart gave a great throb of relief when
I saw my ulster lying carelessly over the back of a chair. AND THE
MAGAZINE WAS STILL ROLLED UP IN THE POCKET!

"If only I could be certain that I was not being overlooked! I looked
carefully round the walls. There didn't seem to be a peep-hole of any
kind--nevertheless I felt kind of sure there must be. All of a sudden I
sat down on the edge of the table, and put my face in my hands, sobbing
out a 'Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!' I've got very sharp ears. I distinctly heard
the rustle of a dress, and slight creak. That was enough for me. I was
being watched!

"I lay down on the bed again, and by and by Mrs. Vandemeyer brought me
some supper. She was still sweet as they make them. I guess she'd been
told to win my confidence. Presently she produced the oilskin packet,
and asked me if I recognized it, watching me like a lynx all the time.

"I took it and turned it over in a puzzled sort of way. Then I shook my
head. I said that I felt I OUGHT to remember something about it, that it
was just as though it was all coming back, and then, before I could get
hold of it, it went again. Then she told me that I was her niece, and
that I was to call her 'Aunt Rita.' I did obediently, and she told me
not to worry--my memory would soon come back.

"That was an awful night. I'd made my plan whilst I was waiting for her.
The papers were safe so far, but I couldn't take the risk of leaving
them there any longer. They might throw that magazine away any minute.
I lay awake waiting until I judged it must be about two o'clock in the
morning. Then I got up as softly as I could, and felt in the dark along
the left-hand wall. Very gently, I unhooked one of the pictures from its
nail--Marguerite with her casket of jewels. I crept over to my coat and
took out the magazine, and an odd envelope or two that I had shoved in.
Then I went to the washstand, and damped the brown paper at the back
of the picture all round. Presently I was able to pull it away. I had
already torn out the two stuck-together pages from the magazine, and n