examined Pollyooly the more impressed he was by her
likeness to Lady Marion Ricksborough. The detective was gloomy; he had
lost a night's rest for nothing, as well as his hope of forthwith
receiving the reward for the capture of the missing child, for it was
he who had tracked her to the house in Devon. Now he might be months
recovering her trail.

The Honourable John Ruffin on the other hand was in excellent spirits.
He had no desire to embroil himself with his cousin, by definitely
taking the side of the duchess in their quarrel; and he began to see
plainly that the matter would never come to the duke's ears. Neither
the lawyer nor the detective would talk about it; they both cut too
ridiculous a figure.

At 75 the King's Bench Walk, they found Mrs. Brown and the Lump. Mr.
Wilkinson needed no more evidence than the warmth with which Pollyooly
kissed and hugged her little brother; but none the less he received
Mrs. Brown's convincing assurances that she was Mary Bride.

When that worthy woman had been dismissed to the kitchen, he said
heavily:

"This has been an unfortunate mistake--very unfortunate."

"Not so unfortunate as it would have been if Pollyooly had been ten
years older. It would have cost you hundreds. As it is, I shouldn't
wonder if she would be content with a fiver as compensation," said the
Honourable John Ruffin with a soothing smile.

Mr. Wilkinson groaned; then he said:

"Well, I've made a mistake, and I suppose I must pay for it."

Slowly and sadly he drew a five-pound note from his notebook and handed
it to Pollyooly.

"Thank you, sir," said Pollyooly; and dropped a curtsey, like the
well-mannered child she was.

"Your housekeeper? To think that she should have roused the whole
hotel to get that bath!" said Mr. Wilkinson bitterly.

"She was for the time being the daughter of a duke--by your
appointment," said the Honourable John Ruffin suavely.

Mr. Wilkinson waved the detective out of the room, and followed him.
At the door he paused to say very heavily:

"I shall never trust my eyes again."

"No: I shouldn't," said the Honourable John Ruffin gently. "I think
another time, if I were you, I should try glasses."

CHAPTER VII

POLLYOOLY PLAYS THE GOOD SAMARITAN

Mr. Wilkinson had departed, a sadder but very little wiser man, and
taken his detective with him; Mrs. Brown had been thanked, paid, and
dismissed; and Pollyooly, having sufficiently fondled and kissed the