that all was well and always would be; only he lacked the
effrontery, just then, for his usual smirk.

When they had disappeared Sofia began to think.

There was something more in this affair than mere coincidence, there was
mystery, a sinister question.

Her countenance grew as dark as the complexion of her reverie. Athwart the
field of her abstracted vision drifted the figure of young Mr. Karslake.
She was barely conscious of it.

He seated himself with plain premeditation directly opposite the caisse,
staring openly. But Sofia did not heed him at all. An odd smile shadowed
his lips, an expression half eager, half apprehensive; there was a hint of
puzzlement in his scrutiny. It was rather as if he had unexpectedly found
some new reason for thinking the girl an exceptionally interesting
personality. But she continued all unaware.

Shortly after being served with a drink which he ordered but made no offer
to taste, he moved as if minded to rise and cross to Sofia, sat up and
edged forward on the wall-seat with a singular air of timidity and
embarrassment. But whatever his intention, he reconsidered and sat back,
glancing round the room to see if anybody were watching him. He could not
see that anybody was. Not even Sofia. Relieved, he settled back, found a
handsome gold case in the waistcoat of his dinner jacket, extracted a
cigarette, nipped it between his lips--and forgot to light it.

Of a sudden Sofia had arrived at a decision; and with every expression of
it in her manner she slipped down from the high stool and left the caisse
to take care of itself. Turning to the swing door she barged through with a
high head and fire of determination illuminating her face. She had had
enough of riddles.

Behind the zinc an elderly and trusted waiter was nodding. The kitchen was
cold and dark for the night. Papa Dupont, then, would be upstairs, closeted
with the genius of the establishment.

From the pantry a narrow staircase led up to the apartment above the
restaurant. Sofia mounted rapidly, with a firm tread that was nevertheless
practically noiseless, thanks to the paper-thin soles of well-worn
slippers. She could hear voices bickering above.

At the top there was a short, dark corridor, with three doors. Two of these
were closed on sleeping-rooms; the third door, to a sort of combination
office and living-room, stood open, letting out a stream of light.

Sofia approached on tiptoe, though the altercation going on