ven, if need be, of suggestion,--when the moment came for him
to do so.

For the first time for many nights Vanderlyn's sleep was unbroken; and
early the next morning he made his way to the Avenue du Bois de
Boulogne.

As he walked through the hall of the villa, already peopled with a score
of the Pargeters' acquaintances, eager to show their sympathy with the
wealthy sportsman in this most untoward and extraordinary occurrence,
the American was obliged to shake hands with many men whom he had
hitherto only known by sight, and to answer questions some of which
impressed him as strangely indiscreet. More than one of those with whom
he found himself thus face to face looked at him with cruel, inquisitive
eyes, and a scarcely veiled curiosity, for it was of course well known
that Laurence Vanderlyn had been an intimate, not only of the husband,
but also of the wife.

At last Pargeter's valet threaded his way up to him: "Will you please
come upstairs, sir? Mr. Pargeter told me to say that he would be glad if
you would go to his dressing-room as soon as you arrived."

"There's no news, Grid,--no news at all! It's getting awful, isn't
it?--quite beyond a joke! You know what I mean--I'm sick of answering
stupid questions. I was waked this morning at seven--had to see a man in
bed! They don't seem to understand that I can tell them nothing beyond
the bare fact that she's vanished; they actually sent two women here
last night----"

"Two women?" echoed Vanderlyn. "What sort of women?"

"Ugly old hags," said Pargeter, briefly, "from the Prefecture of Police.
They brought an impudent letter asking me to allow them to turn out
Peggy's room and look over all her things! But I refused----" he looked
at his friend for sympathy--and found it.

"You were quite right," said Vanderlyn quickly. His face became rigid
with anger and disgust. "Quite right, Tom! Whatever made them think of
suggesting such a thing? Where would be the use of it?"

"Oh! well, of course they had a reason. The police are particularly keen
that we should look over any old letters of hers; they think that we
might find some kind of clue. But I don't believe she kept her
letters--why should she? I don't keep mine. However, I've promised to do
the job myself----" he looked uncertainly at Vanderlyn. "Would you mind,
Grid, coming with me into Peggy's room? Of course Plimmer, that's her
maid, you know, will help us. She knows where Peggy keeps all her
things."