me. He knew my name, and reminded me that we had once met at
the 'Vagabonds' Club.'"

"Did you remember him?"

"I cannot say that I did," I answered.

"And afterwards?"

"We talked together for some time, and when we left the station he asked
me to lunch here."

"Did he arrive by train, or was he meeting anyone at Charing Cross?" the
sergeant asked.

"Neither, so far as I could see," I answered. "He seemed to be simply
loitering. I ought to tell you, though, that we saw Major Delahaye and
this young lady arrive by the Continental train, and he seemed to be
interested in them."

The sergeant turned to Isobel.

"Did you know him?" he asked.

"No," she answered. "I did not notice him at the station at all. I saw
that he was sitting at the same table downstairs as this gentleman, but
I am quite sure that I have never seen him before in my life."

The sergeant put away his pocket-book.

"I am very sorry to trouble you," he said, "but I think it would be
better for you all to come to Bow Street and see the superintendent."

"I am quite willing to do so," I answered, "though I can tell him no
more than I have told you."

The child moved suddenly towards me. Her thin, shabbily gloved fingers
gripped my arm with almost painful force. Her eyes were full of
passionate appeal.

"I may go with you," she murmured. "You will not leave me alone?"

"The young lady will be required also," the sergeant remarked.

"We will go together, of course," I said gently. "Come!"

CHAPTER V

We crossed the road from the police-station, and found ourselves in one
of the narrow streets fringing Covent Garden. The air was fragrant here
with the perfume of white and purple lilac, great baskets full of which
were piled up in the gutter. The girl half closed her eyes.

"Delicious!" she murmured. "This reminds me of St. Argueil! You have
flowers too, then, in London?"

I bought her a handful, which she sniffed and held to her face with
delight.

"Ah!" she said a little sadly. "I had forgotten that there were any
beautiful things left in the world. Thank you so much, Mr. Arnold."

"At your age," I said cheerfully, "you will soon find out that the
world--even London--is a treasure-house of beautiful things."

She looked down the narrow, untidy street, strewn with the refuse from
the market waggons and trucks which blocked the way, making all but
pedestrian traffic an impossibility--at the piles of empty baskets in
the g