But have you discovered anything?"

"Well," he replied with a self-conscious smile, "I've found a letter here
which rather alters my theory," and I saw that he held a piece of grey
notepaper in his hand. "Here is a note addressed to him as long ago as
1900 in the name of Sir Digby Kemsley! Perhaps, after all, the man who
died so mysteriously in Peru was an impostor, and the owner of this place
was the real Sir Digby!"

"Exactly my own theory," I declared.

"But that fountain!" he remarked. "The fountain mentioned in the letter
left behind by the man Cane. We must take immediate steps to identify it,
and it must be watched on the twenty-third for the coming of the woman
who wears a yellow flower. When we find her, we shall be able to discover
something very interesting, Mr. Royle. Don't you agree?"

CHAPTER V.

"TIME WILL PROVE."

These are truly the fevered days of journalistic enterprise the world
over.

There are no smarter journalists than those of Fleet Street, and none,
not even in New York, with scent more keen for sensational news. "The
day's story" is the first thought in every newspaper office, and surely
no story would have been a greater "scoop" for any journal than the
curious facts which I have related in the foregoing pages.

But even though the gentlemen of the Press are ubiquitous, many a curious
happening, and many a remarkable coroner's inquiry, often remain
unreported.

And so in this case. When, on the following morning, the coroner for the
borough of Kensington held his inquiry in the little court off the High
Street, no reporter was present, and only half a dozen idlers were seated
in the back of the gloomy room.

When the jury had taken their seats after viewing the remains, according
to custom, the police inspector reported to the coroner that the body
remained unidentified, though the description had been telegraphed
everywhere.

"I might add, sir," went on the inspector, "that there is strong belief
that the young lady may be a foreigner. Upon the tab of her coat she was
wearing was the name of a costumier: 'Sartori, Via Roma.' Only the name
of the street, and not the town is given. But it must be somewhere in
Italy. We are in communication with the Italian police with a view to
ascertaining the name of the town, and hope thus to identify the
deceased."

"Very well!" said the coroner, a shrewd, middle-aged, clean-shaven man in
gold pince-nez. "Let us have the evidence,"