ab, and drove
to Madame Claudine's. He made one or two purchases, and then asked for
the head of the establishment, an Irish lady. To her he confided that he
had to break a piece of distressing family news to Miss Markham, of the
cloak department; that young lady was summoned; Madame Claudine, with a
face of sympathy, ushered them into her private room, and went off to see
a customer. Miss Markham was pale and trembling; Merton himself felt
agitated.

'Is it about my father, or--' the girl asked.

'Pray be calm,' said Merton. 'Sit down. Both are well.'

The girl started. 'Your voice--' she said.

'Exactly,' said Merton; 'you know me.' And taking off his glove, he
showed a curious mediaeval ring, familiar to his friends. 'I could get
at you in no other way than this,' he said, 'and it was absolutely
necessary to see you.'

'What is it? I know it is about my father,' said the girl.

'He has done us a great service,' said Merton soothingly. He had guessed
what the 'distressing circumstances' were in which the marquis had been
restored to life. Perhaps the reader guesses? A discreet person, who
has secretly to take charge of a corpse of pecuniary value, adopts
certain measures (discovered by the genius of ancient Egypt), for its
preservation. These measures, doubtless, had revived the marquis, who
thus owed his life to his kidnapper.

'He has, I think, done us a great service,' Merton repeated; and the
girl's colour returned to her beautiful face, that had been of marble.

'Yet there are untoward circumstances,' Merton admitted. 'I wish to ask
you two or three questions. I must give you my word of honour that I
have no intention of injuring your father. The reverse; I am really
acting in his interests. Now, first, he has practised in Australia. May
I ask if he was interested in the Aborigines?'

'Yes, very much,' said the girl, entirely puzzled. 'But,' she added, 'he
was never in the Labour trade.'

'Blackbird catching?' said Merton. 'No. But he had, perhaps, a
collection of native arms and implements?'

'Yes; a very fine one.'

'Among them were, perhaps, some curious native shoes, made of emu's
feathers--they are called _Interlinia_ or, by white men, _Kurdaitcha_
shoes?'

'I don't remember the name,' said Miss Markham, 'but he had quite a
number of them. The natives wear them to conceal their tracks when they
go on a revenge party.'

Merton's guess was now a certainty. The marquis h