me, which I carried up to my room,
to read them while I was changing my attire. Never before had I been so
glad to get out of a dress-suit.

I had just finished my toilet and was in the act of commencing the
packing of the bag I intended taking with me, when there was a tap at
the door. I opened it, to find the _concierge_ there.

"There is a lady in the parlor to see Monsieur," she said. "She has a
maid with her."

"A lady to see me?" I asked incredulously. "Who on earth can she be?"

The _concierge_ shook her head. In my own mind I had arrived at the
conclusion that it was Mademoiselle Beaumarais, and that Hayle had sent
her to discover, if possible, whether I had escaped from my confinement
or not. On finding out that I had she would telegraph to him, and once
more he would be placed on his guard. At first I felt almost inclined
not to see her, but on second thoughts I saw the folly of this
proceeding. I accordingly entered the room where the lady was awaiting
me. The light was not very good, but it was sufficient for me to see two
figures standing by the window.

"To what am I indebted for the honour of this visit, mademoiselles?" I
began.

"Don't you know me, Mr. Fairfax?" the taller of them answered. "You
forget your friends very quickly."

"Miss Kitwater?" I cried, "what does this mean?"

"It is a long story," she answered, "but I feel sure that you will have
time to hear it now. I am in terrible trouble."

"I am indeed sorry to hear that," I answered, and then glanced at her
maid as if to inquire whether it was safe to speak before her. She
interpreted the look correctly and nodded her head.

"Yes, Mr. Fairfax," she said, "you can say what you please before
Nelly."

"Then am I right in interpreting your trouble as being connected with
your uncle?" I asked.

"Yes, that is it," she answered. "You have guessed correctly. Do you
know that he and Mr. Codd have disappeared?"

"Disappeared?" I repeated. "Have you any idea where they have
disappeared to?"

"No, but I can hazard a very shrewd guess," she replied. "I believe
they have crossed to Paris in search of Mr. Hayle. Since last Sunday my
uncle had been more depressed than ever, while the paroxysms of rage to
which he is so subject, have been even more frequent than ever. If the
truth must be told, I fear his troubles have turned his brain, for he
talks to himself in such a queer way, and asks every few minutes if I
have received news from you,