be notified of the fact that
Madame Pargeter is missing; and I shall almost certainly be able to send
you some kind of news of her by four o'clock this afternoon. In any case
you can trust us to do our best. Will Monsieur be returning to the
Avenue du Bois"--he addressed Vanderlyn, "or is Monsieur going to his
own flat in the Rue de Rivoli?"

Vanderlyn looked up quickly. His private address was not printed on the
card he had shown; still it was reasonable enough that this man should
have looked up his own as well as Pargeter's address and should have
wished to verify their statements as far as was possible.

"Of course, Grid, you will come home with me!" exclaimed Pargeter
fretfully.

"Then, Messieurs, I will send any news I get straight to the Avenue du
Bois de Boulogne."

As they walked through the long corridors, it became clear that whatever
anxiety Pargeter had suffered had dropped off him, for the moment, like
a cloak. "I shouldn't be surprised if I can get off to-night after all,"
he said cheerfully, "you heard what he said? This afternoon we shall
certainly have news of her."

Then, as they emerged into the hall, and he caught sight of his
motor-car and of its occupant, "For God's sake, Grid," he said frowning,
"let's get rid of that old woman! There she sits, staring like a bird of
prey; it's enough to give one the hump! Ask her if she would like us to
drive her to her Paris house. If she wants to go back to the country,
I'll send her in Peggy's Limousine--oh! I forgot, that's not available,
is it? Never mind, she can go on in this car. Say we'll send her news as
soon as we hear any!"

But Vanderlyn soon ascertained that Madame de Lera had no wish to go
back to Marly-le-Roi. She accepted his brief account of what had
occurred at the Prefecture of Police without comment, and, refusing
Pargeter's offer to drive her to her house in the Faubourg St. Germain,
asked only to be set down at the nearest telegraph-station.

* * * * *

Dreary hours followed--hours later remembered with special horror and
shrinking by Laurence Vanderlyn. They were spent by the two ill-assorted
friends in Tom Pargeter's own room on the ground-floor of the villa.

It was a long, well-lighted room, lined with the huge, splendidly
decorative posters, signed Cheret and Mucha, which were then just being
collected by those who admired that type of flamboyant art. In this
apartment Peggy, as Vanderlyn was