el, been making diligent
inquiries regarding them of the night concierge and some of the staff.

The concierge had recognized the visitor as Armand Buisson, of the
police bureau at Nice. It seemed as though the French police were unduly
inquisitive concerning the well-conducted young Englishman and his
companion.

Now, as a matter of fact, half an hour after Hugh had left the Villa
Amette, Ogier had telegraphed to Buisson in Nice, and the latter had
come along the Corniche road in a fast car to make his own inquiries
and observations upon the pair of Englishmen. Ogier strongly suspected
Henfrey of firing the shot, but was, nevertheless, determined to remain
inactive and leave the matter to the Prefecture of the Department
of Alpes Maritimes. Hence the reason that the well-dressed Frenchman
lounged in the hall of the hotel pretending to read the "Phare du
Littoral."

Just before noon Hugh went to the telephone in the hotel and inquired of
Cataldi the progress of his mistress.

"She is just the same, m'sieur," came the voice in broken English.
"_Santa Madonna!_ How terrible it all is! Doctor Leneveu has left, and
Doctor Duponteil is now here."

"Have the police been again?"

"No, m'sieur. Nobody has been," was the reply.

So Hugh rang off and crossed the hall, little dreaming that the
well-dressed Frenchman had been highly interested in his questions.

Half an hour later he went along to the Metropole, where he had an
engagement to lunch with Dorise and her mother.

When they met, however, Lady Ranscomb exclaimed:

"Why, Hugh, you look very pale. What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing," he laughed forcedly. "I'm not very bright to-day. I think
it was the sirocco of yesterday that has upset me a little, that's all."

Then, while they were seated at table, Dorise suddenly exclaimed:

"Oh! do you know, mother, that young French lady over yonder, Madame
Jacomet, has just told me something. There's a whisper that the
mysterious woman, Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo, was shot during the night
by a discarded lover!"

"Shot!" exclaimed Lady Ranscomb. "Dear me! How very dreadful. What
really happened?"

"I don't know. Madame Jacomet was told by her husband, who heard it in
Ciro's this morning."

"How terrible!" remarked Hugh, striving to remain calm.

"Yes. But women of her class invariably come to a bad end," remarked the
widow. "How pleased I am, Dorise, that you never spoke to her. She's a
most dreadful person, th