s of identification, or
even fit clothing for the street; for, on coming out of his bath,
Lanyard had found all of these things missing, the valet de chambre
presumably having made off with his evening clothes, to have them
pressed and repaired.

Liane was dressed for travelling, becomingly if with a sobriety that
went oddly with her cultivated beaute du diable, and wore besides a
habit of preoccupation which, one was left to assume, excused the
informality of her unannounced entrance.

"Well, my dear friend!" she said gravely, halting by the bedside.

"It's about time," Lanyard retorted.

"I was afraid you might be growing impatient," she confessed. "I have
had so much to do..."

"No doubt. But if you had neglected me much longer I should have come
to look for you regardless of consequences."

"How is that?" she enquired with knitted brows--"regardless of what
consequences?"

"Any damage one might do to the morale of your menage by toddling about
in the voluptuous deshabille in which you behold me--my sole present
apology for a wardrobe."

She found only the shadow of a smile for such frivolity. "I have sent
for clothing for you," she said absently. "It should be here any minute
now. We only wait for that."

"You mean you have sent to the Chatham for my things?"

"But certainly not, monsieur!" Liane Delorme lied without perceptible
effort. "That would have been too injudicious. It appears you were not
mistaken in thinking you were recognized as Andre Duchemin last night.
Agents of the Prefecture have been all day watching at the Chatham,
awaiting your return."

"How sad for them!" In as much as he had every reason to believe this
to be outright falsehood, Lanyard didn't feel called upon to seem
downcast. "But if my clothing there is unavailable, I hardly see..."

"But naturally I have commissioned a person of good judgement to outfit
you from the shops. Your dress clothes--which seemed to suit you very
well last night--gave us your measurements. The rest is simplicity; my
orders were to get you everything you could possibly require."

"It's awfully sporting of you," Lanyard insisted. "Although it makes
one feel--you know--not quite respectable. However, if you will be so
gracious as to suggest that your valet de chambre return my pocketbook
and passports..."

"I have them here." The woman turned over the missing articles. "But,"
she demanded with an interest which was undissembled if tardy in
finding