ess
Zattiany's daughter, nor a third cousin, nor the Countess Josef
Zattiany. I've tried to recall every mystery story I ever read that
would bear on the case, but I'm as much in the dark as ever."

"And you've thought of nothing else. Your column has fallen off."

"Do you think that?" He sat up. "I've not been too satisfied myself."

"You've been filling up with letters from your correspondents after the
fashion of more jaded columnists. Even your comments on them have been
flat. And as for your description of that prize fight last night, it
was about as thrilling as an account of a flower show."

He laughed and dropped back. "You are as refreshing as a cold shower,
Gora. But, after all, even a poor colyumist must be allowed to slump
occasionally. However, I'll turn her off hereafter when I sit down to
my typewriter. Lord knows a typewriter is no Wagnerian orchestra and
should be warranted to banish sentiment. . . . Sentiment is not the
word, though. It is plain raging curiosity."

"Oh, no, it is not," said Miss Dwight coolly, lighting another
cigarette, which she carefully fitted into a pair of small gold tongs:
neither ink nor nicotine was ever seen on those long aristocratic
fingers. "You are in love with her, my child."

"I am not!"

"Oh, yes, you are. I've never been misled for a moment by your other
brief rhapsodies--the classic Anne--the demoniac Marian--but you're
landed high and dry this time. The mystery may have something to do
with it, but the woman has far more. She is the most beautiful
creature I ever beheld and she looks intelligent and keen in spite of
that monumental repose. And what a great lady!" Gora sighed. How she
once had longed to be a great lady! She no longer cared a fig about
it, and would not have changed her present state for that of a princess
in a stable world. But old dreams die hard. There was no one of
Madame Zattiany's abundant manifestations of high fortune that she
admired more. "Go in and win, Clavey--and without too much loss of
time. She'll be drawn into her own world here sooner or later. She
confesses to being a widow, so you needn't get tangled up in an
intrigue."

"You forget she is also a very rich woman. I'd look like a fortune
hunter----"

"How old-fashioned of you! And you'd feel like nothing of the sort.
The only thing that worries you at present is that you are trying to
hide from yourself that you are in love with her."

"I wond