n there, Quadling, the banker?"

"Of course I did. Constantly. He was a good deal about--a rather
free-living, self-indulgent sort of chap. And now you mention his
name, I recollect they said he was much smitten by this particular
lady, the Contessa di Castagneto."

"And did she encourage him?" "Lord! how can I tell? Who shall say
how a woman's fancy falls? It might have suited her too. They said
she was not in very good circumstances, and he was thought to be a
rich man. Of course we know better than that now."

"Why _now?_"

"Haven't you heard? It was in the _Figaro_ yesterday, and in all
the Paris papers. Quadling's bank has gone to smash; he has bolted
with all the 'ready' he could lay hands upon."

"He didn't get far, then!" cried Sir Charles. "You look surprised,
Jack. Didn't they tell you? This Quadling was the man murdered in
the sleeping-car. It was no doubt for the money he carried with
him."

"Was it Quadling? My word! what a terrible Nemesis. Well, _nil
nisi bonum_, but I never thought much of the chap, and your
friend the Countess has had an escape. But now, sir, I must be
moving. My engagement is for twelve noon. If you want me, mind you
send--207 Rue Miromesnil, or to the Embassy; but let us arrange to
meet this evening, eh? Dinner and a theatre--what do you say?"

Then Colonel Papillon rode off, and the General was driven to the
Boulevard des Capucines, having much to occupy his thoughts by the
way.

It did not greatly please him to have this story of the Countess's
relations with Quadling, as first hinted at by the police,
endorsed now by his friend Papillon. Clearly she had kept up her
acquaintance, her intimacy to the very last: why otherwise should
she have received him, alone, been closeted with him for an hour
or more on the very eve of his flight? It was a clandestine
acquaintance too, or seemed so, for Sir Charles, although a
frequent visitor at her house, had never met Quadling there.

What did it all mean? And yet, what, after all, did it matter to
him?

A good deal really more than he chose to admit to himself, even
now, when closely questioning his secret heart. The fact was, the
Countess had made a very strong impression on him from the first.
He had admired her greatly during the past winter at Rome, but
then it was only a passing fancy, as he thought,--the pleasant
platonic flirtation of a middle-aged man, who never expected to
inspire or feel a great love. Only now, when he