re insist that matters of
so grave a nature had occurred, that the honor of his very country was
at stake, and to call upon him, Duvall, as the one man who could set
matters right. Of course, it was very flattering, but he wanted, not
flattery, but Grace, and all the happiness which lay before them. What,
after all, was this matter, this affair so vague and mysterious, into
which he had so unexpectedly been thrown? He drew out the instructions
which the Prefect had hurriedly thrust into his hands, and looked at
them with eager curiosity.

They covered but one side of a small sheet of paper. "Visit immediately
number 87, _Rue de Richelieu_," they said. "It is a small curio shop.
Monsieur Dufrenne, the proprietor, expects you, and will join you at
once. Proceed without delay to London and report to Monsieur de Grissac,
the French Ambassador. He has lost an ivory snuff box, which you must
recover as quickly as possible. You will find money enclosed herewith.
Monsieur Dufrenne you can trust in all things. God be with
you.--Lefevre."

It was the first time that Duvall had read the instructions. He had not
had an opportunity to do so before. As he concluded his examination of
them, his face hardened, his brow contracted in a frown, and he crushed
the piece of paper in his hand. Was this some absurd joke that Monsieur
Lefevre was playing upon him? The idea of separating him from Grace upon
their wedding day, to send him on an expedition, the object of which was
to recover a lost snuff box! It seemed preposterous. In his anger he
muttered an exclamation which attracted the attention of Vernet. He was,
in fact, on the point of stopping the automobile, and going at once to
the _pension_ where Grace was waiting for him, her trunks packed for
their wedding journey. The impassive face of the Frenchman beside him
relaxed a trifle, as he saw Duvall's agitation. "What is it, Monsieur
Duvall?" he inquired.

"Do you know anything about this matter that makes it necessary for me
to go to London?" demanded Duvall.

"Nothing, monsieur, except that your train leaves--" he consulted his
watch--"in twenty minutes."

Duvall drew out a cigar and lit it, with a gesture of annoyance. "The
matter does not appear very important," he grumbled.

Vernet permitted a slight smile to cross his usually immobile face. "I
have been in the service of the Prefect for ten years," he remarked,
"and I have learned that he wastes very little time upon unimp