s correct? Mr.
Hunter, the murdered man, was acquainted with Monsieur de Courtois?"

The question came from the Earl of Valletort, whose angry bewilderment
had suddenly given place to a gravity of demeanor that was significant
of the serious complications involved in the clerk's statement.

Poor Krantz could have bitten his tongue for its too free wagging. He
was thoroughly tired, and had intended to go to his room at the
earliest moment and repair damages by a long night's rest. Now, to all
appearance, he had unwittingly reopened the whole wretched imbroglio.
But there was no help for it. Having put his hand to the plow he was
obliged to turn the furrow.

"Yes, my lord, positive," he said between his teeth.

"Ah!" Schmidt was beginning to think that the amazing marriage
promised to develop into a _cause celebre_. "In that event, it becomes
essential, indeed, I may say imperative, that his lordship and I should
interview Monsieur de Courtois without delay."

"Sorry, sir," said the clerk, desperately availing himself of the
detective's instructions, "but Mr. Steingall left orders that no one
should be permitted to visit Mr. de Courtois to-night."

"Left orders? Is the man in this hotel?"

"Oh, yes, I was aware of that all the time," put in the Earl. "He
lived here--don't you see, that accounts for the mistake I made in
assuming that----"

"Forgive me." The lawyer's monitory hand rose again, and he turned to
the clerk. "You can hardly expect me, Mr. Krantz, to regard Mr.
Steingall's 'orders' as in any way controlling my actions. Kindly show
his lordship and me to Monsieur de Courtois's room at once."

There was nothing for it but to obey. Krantz understood exactly how he
would be jumped on and pulverized in the morning by irate stockholders
in the hotel if any action of his should be adversely reported on by
the great Otto Schmidt.

But the visit to de Courtois fizzled out unexpectedly. The Frenchman,
still attired in evening dress, for that is the conventional wedding
attire of his race, was lying on the bed sleeping the sleep of utter
exhaustion supplemented by bromide. The two negro attendants, who were
hoping for some more exciting experience, were squatted on the floor
playing pinochle, and the strenuous efforts of Lord Valletort to arouse
the slumberer were quite useless. But--and that was a vital thing--he
had seen de Courtois, and knew beyond doubt that he was alive, and
seemingly in goo