side and glanced
through the open window, seeing nothing of the panorama of London below,
but seeing only a great throne, and upon it a regal figure, his head
crowned with the ancient crown of the Jewish kings. When she turned
again her father stood behind her. But Severac Bablon was gone!

"Thought you had a visitor, Zoe?" said Mr. Oppner. "There's a gentleman
here would like to have a look at him!"

He turned to a big, burly man, dressed in neat serge, who bowed
awkwardly and immediately took a sharp look around the room. Mr. Oppner
eyed his daughter with grim suspicion.

"Inspector Sheffield would like to ask you something!"

"Sorry to trouble you, miss," said the inspector, misinterpreting the
sudden, strained look that had come into her eyes, and smiling in kindly
fashion. "But I've been following a man all the morning, and I rather
think he came into this hotel! Also--please excuse me if I'm wrong--I
rather fancy he came up here!"

"What is he like--this--man?" she asked mechanically, looking away from
the detective.

"This morning he was like the handsomest gentleman in Europe, miss! But
he may have altered since I saw him last! He's the latest thing in
quick-change artists I've met to date!"

"What do you want him for?"

Sheffield raised his eyebrows.

"He's Severac Bablon!" he said simply. "Does your late visitor answer to
the description?"

"My visitor was a gentleman who wanted funds for building a home for
invalid children!"

"You're sure it wasn't our man, miss?"

("And you will be my friend" he had asked. "I will try," had been her
promise.)

"I am quite sure my visitor was not a criminal of any kind!" she
answered. "You have made a strange mistake!"

The inspector bowed and quitted the room immediately. Mr. Oppner stood
for some moments watching his daughter--and then followed the officer.
Zoe went to her room, and allowed her maid to dress her, without
proposing a solitary alteration in the scheme. She was very preoccupied.
In the lounge she found her father deep in conversation with a
clean-shaven man who had the features and complexion of a Sioux, and
wore a tweed suit which to British eyes must have appeared several sizes
too large for him. His Stetson was tilted well to the rear of his skull,
and he lay back smoking a black cheroot. This was Aloys X. Alden of
Pinkerton's. Zoe hesitated. The conversation clearly was a business one.

And, at that moment, a tall figure appeared besid