d forward, and his trembling fingers closed upon
a lady's handkerchief. And then--he caught the faintest breath of a
perfume, strange yet hauntingly familiar, as if the doors of the dead
past had opened for an instant.

Heavens! Her perfume! His brain reeled. He rushed up to his
sitting-room, and there, under the bright light, he examined the
trophy. It was real--there was no doubt about that. Paul had half
fancied that after all it was only another trick of his imagination.
But there lay the scrap of filmy stuff upon his table, as tangible as
the solid oak on which it rested.

He folded it carefully and placed it in his pocket. For some moments
he pondered over the strange coincidence, and as he thought, the
clouds lifted from his brain again. If this were chance, surely there
was some consistency in it all. Fortune always sets mile-posts on the
road to her, and with a thrill Paul realized that he was still a young
man and that this tiny suggestion from the destiny which directs poor
mortals' affairs was not to be disregarded. The time for action had
come.

He descended briskly to the hall and scanned the visitors' list. The
names--most of them--meant nothing. Except for Barclay and his party
Paul knew no one in the place. Indeed, he had held himself aloof from
chance acquaintances.

By this time no guests remained about the lounge. In the doorway stood
Monsieur Jacques. Paul went up to him.

"I found a handkerchief outside just now," he said, forcing a careless
voice. "Perhaps the lady to whom it belongs has just come in?"

"No one has entered for a _quart d'heure_, Sir Paul. _Helas!_ It was
not so in the old days. It was always gay then at this time of the
night, with the band playing and all the guests chattering like mad."
The _maitre d'hotel_ breathed a gentle sigh for the halcyon days of
long ago.

Momentarily baffled, to his rooms Paul turned again, and threw himself
into a big armchair, where he sat wondering till in the gray light of
morning the formless shadows around him took the shape of the
luxurious furnishings of his suite.

What face had peered at him through the branches? In spite of the
token he had found on the steps, Paul could scarcely believe that the
vision had been one of flesh and blood. The handkerchief with the
familiar scent?--merely an odd coincidence. But still--well, the
puzzle might be worth the solving.

At last he rose, and drawing the heavy hangings close to keep out the