private detective agency."

"Still, she may know now," Whitaker said doubtfully. "She may have heard
something since. I'll have a word with her myself."

"Address," observed Drummond, dryly: "the American Embassy, Berlin....
Pettit's got some sort of a minor diplomatic berth over there."

"O the devil!... But, anyway, I can write."

"Think it over," Drummond advised. "Maybe it might be kinder not to."

"Oh, I don't know--"

"You've given me to understand you were pretty comfy on the other side
of the globe. Why not let sleeping dogs lie?"

"It's the lie that bothers me--the living lie. It isn't fair to her."

"Rather sudden, this solicitude--what?" Drummond asked with open
sarcasm.

"I daresay it does look that way. But I can't see that it's the decent
thing for me to let things slide any longer. I've got to try to find
her. She may be ill--destitute--in desperate trouble again--"

Drummond's eyebrows went up whimsically. "You surely don't mean me to
infer that your affections are involved?"

This brought Whitaker up standing. "Good heavens--no!" he cried. He
moved to a window and stared rudely at the Post Office Building for a
time. "I'm going to find her just the same--if she still lives," he
announced, turning back.

"Would you know her if you saw her?"

"I don't know." Whitaker frowned with annoyance. "She's six years
older--"

"A woman often develops and changes amazingly between the ages of
eighteen and twenty-four."

"I know," Whitaker acknowledged with dejection.

"Well, but what _was_ she like?" Drummond pursued curiously.

Whitaker shook his head. "It's not easy to remember. Matter of fact, I
don't believe I ever got one good square look at her. It was twilight in
the hotel, when I found her; we sat talking in absolute darkness, toward
the end; even in the minister's study there was only a green-shaded lamp
on the table; and on the train--well, we were both too much worked up, I
fancy, to pay much attention to details."

"Then you really haven't any idea--?"

"Oh, hardly." Whitaker's thin brown hand gesticulated vaguely. "She was
tall, slender, pale, at the awkward age...."

"Blonde or brune?"

"I swear I don't know. She wore one of those funny knitted caps, tight
down over her hair, all the time."

Drummond laughed quietly. "Rather an inconclusive description,
especially if you advertise. 'Wanted: the wife I married six years ago
and haven't seen since; tall, slender, pale, at the