conviction that de
Courtois was dead; indeed, she went so far as to say that, as a matter
of choice, she infinitely preferred the American to the Frenchman in
the role of a husband _pro tem_. She had never regarded de Courtois
from any other point of view than as her paid ally, and she was
beginning to share Curtis's belief that the man was a double-dealer, a
fact which helped to modify her natural regret at the report of his
death in her behalf.

In a calmer mood, too, Curtis would have been quick to realize that a
girl who had reposed such supreme confidence in his probity was
entitled to share his fullest knowledge of the extraordinary bond which
united them, but for one half-hour he was swayed by expediency, and
expediency often exercises a disrupting influence on a friendship
founded on faith. He only meant to spare her the dismay which could
hardly fail to manifest itself when she heard that de Courtois was
alive, and that additional complications must now arise with reference
to the wrongful use of the marriage license; in reality, he was doing
himself a bitter injustice.

But, having elected for a definite course, he was not a man who would
deviate from it by a hair's breadth. When the junta in the vestibule
of the Plaza Hotel had promised to remain mute on the topic of de
Courtois, he dismissed the matter from his mind as having no further
influence on the night's doings.

"Is there any means of recovering my overcoat?" he asked Steingall,
remembering the change of garments when a waiter asked if the gentlemen
cared to deposit their hats and coats in the cloak-room.

"Yes," said the detective. "Just empty the pockets of the coat you are
wearing, and I'll send a messenger to the police station-house with a
note. You won't mind if I retain your documents till after the
inquest? One never knows what questions will be asked, and you must
remember that an attempt may be made to fasten the crime upon you."

Curtis laughed at the absurdity of any such notion, but, for the first
time, he examined the contents of the dead man's coat pockets
methodically. The pocket in which the license had reposed was empty.
Its fellow contained a notebook and pencil. There were also some
newspaper cuttings--items of current interest in New York, but devoid
of bearing on the crime or its cognate developments.

An elastic band caused the book to open at a definite page, and
Steingall, who knew a little of everything, and