erything he wished for the moment to
forget. It was on the afternoon of that day, the first warm spring day
of the year, that they had been tempted, he and Peggy, to make their way
down into the heart of Paris, to the solitary Place des Vosges. It was
there, it was then, that they had together planned that which had
brought him to his present dreadful pass.

Vanderlyn put the paper back on the table, and his face fell forward on
his hands; was he fated never to be allowed to forget--not even for a
moment?

It was with relief that he welcomed the interruption caused by the
entrance of his servant bearing a card in his hand. "A gentleman has
come and insists on seeing Monsieur."

Poulain spoke in a mysterious, significant tone, one that jarred on
Vanderlyn's sensitive nerves. The disappearance of Mrs. Pargeter had
become an engrossing, a delightful drama, not only to the members of the
Pargeter household, but also to Poulain and his worthy wife; and it had
been one of the smaller ironical agonies of Vanderlyn's position that he
did not feel himself able to check or discourage their perpetual and
indiscreet enquiries.

"I have already told you," he said sternly, "that I receive no one
to-night. Even if Mr. Pargeter himself comes, you are to say that I am
out!"

"I'm afraid Monsieur will have to receive this gentleman."

"Poulain!" exclaimed Vanderlyn sharply. "This won't do! Go at once and
inform this gentleman, whoever he may be, that I can see no one
to-night."

"I did say so," observed Poulain, in an injured tone, "I explained to
him that you would see no one. I said you were out--he said that he
would wait. Then, Monsieur, not till then, he handed me his card. If
Monsieur will give himself the trouble of looking at it, I think he will
receive the gentleman."

Vanderlyn took the card with an impatient movement. He glanced at it.
"Why did you not tell me at once," he said roughly, "who this--this
person was? Of course I must see the Prefect of Police."

More than once, Vanderlyn had had proof of the amazing perfection and
grip of the great, the mysterious organisation, that oligarchy within a
republic, which has always played a paramount role in every section of
Parisian life. The American diplomatist had not lived in France all
these years without unconsciously acquiring an almost superstitious
belief in the omnipotence of the French police.

He got up and placed himself between the lamp and the door. He kn