e charging me with being a
thief? Is it to you I am to account for my actions, to defend myself
or to plead guilty?"

She shook her head.

"No," she answered. "I have said almost my last word to you upon
this subject. All that I have to ask of you is this. If that
pocket-book is in your possession, empty it first of its contents,
then go over it carefully with your fingers and see if there is not
a secret pocket. If you discover that, I think that you will find
in it a sealed document. If you find that document, you must bring
it to me."

The lights went down. The voice of the waiter murmured something
in his ears.

"It is after hours," Mademoiselle Idiale said, "but Luigi does not
wish to disturb us. Still, perhaps we had better go."

They passed down the room. To Laverick it was all--like a dream--the
laughing crowd, the flushed men and bright-eyed women, the
lowered lights, the air of voluptuousness which somehow seemed to
have enfolded the place. In the hall her maid came up. A small
motor-brougham, with two servants on the box, was standing at the
doorway. Mademoiselle turned suddenly and gave him her hand.

"Our supper-party, I think, Mr. Laverick," she said, "has been quite
a success. We shall before long, I hope, meet again."

He handed her into the carriage. Her maid walked with them. The
footman stood erect by his side. There were no further words to be
spoken. A little crowd in the doorway envied him as he stood
bareheaded upon the pavement.

CHAPTER XXV

JIM SHEPHERD'S SCARE

It was, in its way, a pathetic sight upon which Laverick gazed when
he stole into that shabby little sitting-room. Zoe had fallen
asleep in a small, uncomfortable easy-chair with its back to the
window. Her supper of bread and milk was half finished, her hat
lay upon the table. A book was upon her lap as though she had
started to read only to find it slip through her fingers. He stood
with his elbow upon the mantelpiece, looking down at her. Her
eyelashes, long and silky, were more beautiful than ever now that
her eyes were closed. Her complexion, pale though she was, seemed
more the creamy pallor of some southern race than the whiteness of
ill-health. The bodice of her dress was open a few inches at the
neck, showing the faint white smoothness of her flawless skin.
Not even her shabby shoes could conceal the perfect shape of her
feet and ankles. Once more he remembered his first simile, h