edon left me and took a taxi to the
station for the purpose of watching Suzor's arrival and ascertaining
his destination, which, of course, I feared to do, lest he should
recognize me.

It was not until past nine o'clock that evening that my friend
returned to the hotel. He described how Suzor on arrival at the Gare
du Nord had been met by a young English lady, and the pair had driven
straight to the Rotonde Restaurant at the corner of the Boulevard
Haussmann, where they had dined together.

"I dined near them, and one could see plainly that their conversation
was a very earnest one," declared my companion. "She seemed to be
relating something, and apparently was most apprehensive, while he, on
his part, seemed gravely perplexed. Though he ordered an expensive
meal they scarcely touched it. They sat in a corner and spoke in
English, but I could not catch a single word."

In response to my request he described Suzor's lady friend.

Then he added: "She wore only one ornament, a beautiful piece of
apple-green jade suspended round her neck by a narrow black ribbon.
When they rose and the waiter brought their coats, I heard him call
her Dorothy."

"Dorothy Cullerton!" I gasped. "I recollect that piece of Chinese jade
she wore in Florence! What is she doing here, meeting that man
clandestinely?"

"The man slipped something into her hand beneath the table and she put
it into her handbag," Hambledon said. "I have a suspicion that it was
a small roll of French bank notes."

"Payment for some information, perhaps," I said. "I don't trust that
young stockbroker's wife. Well?" I asked. "And what then?"

"On leaving the Rotonde they drove to the Rue de Rivoli, where the
lady alighted and entered the Hotel Wagram, while he went along to the
Hotel du Louvre," was his reply.

I was much puzzled at the secret meeting between the affable Frenchman
and young Mrs. Cullerton, and next day by watching the entrance to the
Hotel Wagram, which was an easy matter in the bustle of the Rue de
Rivoli, I satisfied myself that my surmise was correct, for at eleven
o'clock she came forth, entered a taxi, and drove away.

My next inquiry was at the head office of the Credit Lyonnais, in the
Boulevard des Italiens, but, as I suspected, the name of my French
fellow-traveller was unknown.

"We have no official of the name of Suzor," replied the polite
assistant director whom I had asked to see. "The gentleman must be
pretending to be associ