necessary, he read the following aloud:

"Severac Bablon begs to present his compliments to His Majesty's
Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department and to thank
him for according the privilege of a private interview. Whilst
deprecating the subterfuge rendered necessary by the right
honourable gentleman's attitude, he feels that it is justified by
results, and begs respectfully to repeat his assurance that no one
in whom the right honourable gentleman is interested shall be
compromised, now or at any future time."

"You see," said the detective wearily, "that wasn't the real Inspector
Sheffield who spoke to you. I thought you might have known him by this
time, sir! That was Severac Bablon!"

CHAPTER XXVII

YELLOW CIGARETTES

In our pursuit of the fantastic being, about whom so many mysteries
gathered, we have somewhat neglected the affairs of Sir Richard
Haredale. Thanks to Mr. Belford's elusive visitor, these now ran
smoothly.

In order to learn how smoothly we have only to present ourselves at a
certain important social function.

"These military weddings are so romantic," gushed Mrs. Rohscheimer.

"And so beastly stuffy," added her husband, mopping his damp brow with a
silk handkerchief bearing, in gold thread, the monogram "J. R."

"Doesn't Dick look real sweet?" whispered Lady Vignoles, following with
admiring eyes the soldierly figure of the bridegroom, Sir Richard
Haredale.

Lord Vignoles shouldered his way through the scrum about the door.

"I say, Sheila," he called to his wife, "where's Zoe?"

"She was here a minute ago," replied Julius Rohscheimer, rolling his
prominent eyes about in quest of the missing one.

"I mean to say," explained Vignoles, "her father is asking----"

"What! Has uncle turned up after all?" exclaimed Lady Vignoles, and
looked quickly towards the door.

Through the crowd a big red-faced man was forging, and behind him a
glimpse might be had of the shrivelled shape of John Jacob Oppner.

"Hallo," grunted Rohscheimer, "here's Inspector Sheffield, from Scotland
Yard!"--and apprehensively he fingered tie-pin and watch-chain, and
furtively counted the rings upon his fat fingers. "What's up?"

The shrewd but not unkindly eyes of the C. I. D. man were scanning the
packed rooms, over the heads of the crowd--keenly, suspiciously. With a
brief nod he passed the group, and pressed on his way. Mr. Oppner
halted.

"What'