so very
often.

From Fremy I had had several letters dated from the Prefecture of Police,
Brussels, but the tenor of all was the same--nothing to report.

One thing gratified me. Edwards had not approached my love, although I
knew full well, just as Phrida did, that day after day observation was
being kept upon the house in Cromwell Road, yet perhaps only because the
detective's duty demanded it. At least I tried to think so.

Still the one fact remained that, after all our efforts--the efforts of
Scotland Yard, of the Belgian police, and of my own eager inquiries--a
solution of the problem was as far off as ever.

Somewhere there existed a secret--a secret that, as Phrida had declared
to me, was inviolable.

Would it ever be revealed? Would the ghastly truth ever be laid bare?

The affair of Harrington Gardens was indeed a mystery of London--as
absolute and perfect an enigma of crime as had ever been placed before
that committee of experts at Scotland Yard--the Council of Seven.

Even they had failed to find a solution! How, then, could I ever hope to
be successful?

When I thought of it, I paced my lonely room in a frenzy of despair.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE SELLER OF SHAWLS.

After much eloquent persuasion on my part, and much straight talking on
the part of the spectacled family doctor, and of Mrs. Shand, Phrida at
last, towards the last days of June, allowed us to take her to Dinard,
where, at the Hotel Royal, we spent three pleasant weeks, making many
automobile excursions to Trouville, to Dinan, and other places in the
neighbourhood.

The season had scarcely commenced, nevertheless the weather was perfect,
and gradually I had the satisfaction of seeing the colour return to the
soft cheeks of my well-beloved.

Before leaving London I had, of course, seen Edwards, and, knowing that
watch was being kept upon her, I accepted the responsibility of reporting
daily upon my love's movements, she being still under suspicion.

"I ought not to do this, Mr. Royle," he had said, "but the circumstances
are so unusual that I feel I may stretch a point in the young lady's
favour without neglecting my duty. And after all," he added, "we have no
direct evidence--at least not sufficient to justify an arrest."

"Why doesn't that woman Petre come forward and boldly make her statement
personally?" I had queried.

"Well, she may know that you are still alive"--he laughed--"and if
so--she's afraid to go further."